


Queen of the Ashes

by Calenheniel



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Hans and Elsa have daddy complexes to work through, Helsa Week 2020 (Disney), don't we all?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24325945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calenheniel/pseuds/Calenheniel
Summary: [Hans x Elsa, A/U.] They meet as children, each with a secret. Plagued by tragedy, their paths cross again many years later, and their secrets are unraveled.
Relationships: Elsa & Hans (Disney), Elsa/Hans (Disney)
Comments: 66
Kudos: 119





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> There's a popular A/U fic type in the Hans/Elsa fandom that I haven't engaged with until this story, so consider this my first go at it before I attempt it again later this summer. Started off as a short drabble at most, and metastasized into this monstrous thing. The first chapter was originally written for Day 3 of Helsa Week 2020 on Tumblr, "powers" being the theme. Hope you all enjoy.

**I.**

They met as children.

He was introduced to her and her younger sister when he, his brothers, and his father were invited to the girls’ kingdom for something called “trade talks”—though it was nothing that he understood at the time, at eight years old. 

They were brought together just before the state dinner – he led by the collar by his nursemaid after a fit of protest, the girls walking in front of their mother and father, the King and Queen, with gentle and curious looks – and after some basic introductions, they were left to play in the gallery hall with only an older servant and some guards to watch over them.

 _Be good,_ the Queen said to her children, and they curtsied and smiled prettily at her as she departed with the King.

 _Don’t cause any trouble,_ the nursemaid said to him, and he glared at her as she walked away.

The children stared at one another for a while in silence; then, the younger one leapt forward until she was just a foot in front of him, and studied his surprised face.

 _Your hair is pretty, like mine,_ she said, and reached up to touch his head covered in reddish brown locks. When he backed away from her touch, she added: _Your eyes, too. They’re like Papa’s._

He could not remember seeing the King’s eyes when they had briefly met, and so he frowned at the comment, crossing his arms. _I don’t look like anyone but me._

The younger girl’s brow furrowed at his reply. _I don’t understand,_ she said, and turned to her older sister. _Elsa, why is he so mean?_

The older girl held in a giggle, glancing at him before looking back at her sister. _He’s not mean, Anna,_ she said, _he just doesn’t know you yet._ She drew the young girl in, and patted her head. _Why don’t you tell him about your favorite painting?_

The younger girl’s eyes lit up, and she bound away from her sister to take the boy’s gloved hand—but on instinct, he snatched his hand back to his side, causing her to fall over.

She looked up at him with wide, unbelieving eyes, and soon after began to wail on the floor, and then into her sister’s lap. The servant watching from the sidelines rushed over to comfort her, but she threw off his hand, instead grabbing huge handfuls of her sister’s dress to bury her face in.

The servant sighed, and walked over to the boy, who stood stock-still with red, irritated features. _You mustn’t mind Princess Anna, Your Highness,_ he said. _She is a very excitable creature, and loves meeting new people. She doesn’t understand yet that not everyone is like her._

The boy stared at the two sisters with a hard look, though it dissipated as he considered the remarks of the servant. The older sister continued to stroke her sibling’s mussed ginger hair as the girl sobbed, occasionally glancing up at him.

To his astonishment, however, there was no animosity in her glances; if anything, he saw understanding there.

At the same time, he noticed that she kept looking down—and eventually, he realized that she had been looking at the hand he had snapped away from her sister.

His hand clenched into a fist, and he turned redder than ever, spinning on his heel towards the doorway.

_Wait!_

It was the older sister who had whisper-called to him, and he turned around, curious in spite of himself. She waved to him to come back, and when he paused at the invitation, she gestured at her younger sibling, who lay completely still and snored in her lap. At his surprised look, she smiled and covered her face to stifle laughter, some of her silver-blonde hair escaping its tight bounds and falling into her eyes.

He walked back towards her, and finally allowed his hands to relax a little at his sides as he took in her appearance, seeing her as if for the first time.

She patted the floor next to her until he took his seat, and pointed to the far wall of the gallery. _She was trying to take you over there to see Joan,_ she murmured, and he leaned in closer to hear her better. _She’s Anna’s favorite, because she looks so strong, like she isn’t scared of anything._

She stared at the painting for a while, and the smile slipped from her lips. _I wish I could be like her._

He stared at her for a while, and then looked away at a different wall, his hands knitting together in his lap. _Me too._

She looked at him, and then down at his hands again. _Why do you wear gloves?_

His face grew hot again. _Because I—I’m a prince. I’m supposed to._

Her head cocked to the side as she regarded him. _But I’m a princess, and I don’t have to wear them._

He glared at her. _Well I guess people in Arendelle don’t have any manners, do they?_

She frowned. _We have manners. But we don’t wear_ those _all the time._ Her look was keen and probing at his obstinate silence. _Do your mama and papa make you wear them?_

His cheeks flushed until they were crimson. _I just like wearing them, okay? And I don’t have a mother._

He snapped the retort loud enough to wake the other princess from her slumber, and the young girl rubbed her eyes and the drool from her mouth, squinting to identify the culprit behind her untimely awakening. She matched her sister’s frown with one of her own. _Hey! Why is_ he _still here?_

The older servant, alarmed by the raised voices after a seeming period of calm, came over to mediate the dispute—but by then, the boy had risen from his seat in a huff, patting down his white jacket.

 _I want to go,_ he demanded, and the servant sighed, nodding.

 _All right,_ the man said, _I’ll take you back to your quarters._ He gave the girls a scolding look. _Your parents expect you to be on your best behavior for our guests while they’re here, including for young Prince Hans._

The younger princess’s frown grew. _We have to keep playing with_ him?

 _Yes, Princess,_ the servant said. _So please, be kind to him—both of you. I’m sure you would want the same, if you were in a strange land and didn’t know anybody._

The older princess’s gaze softened, and she bowed her head in acquiescence, making her sister do the same.

_Yes, Kai. We will._

The boy watched them with suspicion, saying nothing, and then left.

* * *

They observed each other in the days that followed with the same cautious interest.

She continued to invite him to join the sisters’ play despite her sibling’s protestations, and he remained defiant in his refusal to participate: sitting or standing a ways away, reading a book or just staring at the ceiling, pretending that he wasn’t paying attention to their games and chatter.

It was not until the third day of forced interactions that he heard something which peaked his interest, and he struggled not to move from his reclined position on the chaise in the library, a book covering his face. He shifted his head back just enough for the book to dip below his eyes, which he directed through half-shut lids at the sisters in the corner of the room opposite from him.

 _Do the magic, Elsa,_ he heard the younger one plead. She grabbed at her sister’s dress. _Please?_

 _Not while_ he’s _here, Anna,_ the older sister hissed, nodding over at him. _Mama and Papa don’t allow it in front of strangers._

 _But he’s sleeping,_ the younger one said, and the boy quickly shut his eyes so he would not be found out. _He can’t see it. And Kai’s gone too._

The older sister continued to protest, and the younger to whine, until finally the elder sighed and relented. The younger sister squealed.

 _So pretty!_ she exclaimed, clapping her hands with delight until her sister issued a stern _shh!_ At the warning, the young girl put her hands over her mouth, giggling, but still loud enough to wake anyone from slumber.

At this, the boy finally reopened one eye to see what was happening—and soon after, both snapped open in shock, unable to pretend sleep any longer.

The older sister’s hands circled one another in the air, and with each wave of her hand, sparkling snow and ice followed. It took the forms of whatever she imagined – bears, mountains, castles, crowns – and then whatever her younger sister desired, from deer to rabbits to squirrels. At length, she conjured enough snow for the two sisters to build a rudimentary snowman, and they giggled after they put together its body, realizing they had no carrot for the nose nor coal for the eyes.

 _I can make them out of ice,_ the older sister said, beginning to create the missing pieces.

 _It’s not the same,_ the younger sister complained, swatting her sibling’s arm down so that the creation was stopped midway.

As she did, her older sister frowned, glancing up at the boy; seeing his stunned features, she recoiled and fell back onto the snowman, its body collapsing beneath her weight. The younger girl shrieked at the destruction and started to cry, but the older one merely continued to stare at the boy in horror, rivulets of ice running out from under her shaking hands across the floor towards him.

He jumped up at the sight, and as he did, the book that had laid atop his chest fell to the floor with a _thump_ and was quickly encased by her ice, frozen to the ground.

He stared down at it, and then back up at her with alarm, backing away from the encroaching ice.

Tears streamed from the terrified eyes of the older girl. _Please don’t tell anyone,_ she begged, her sobs breaking up her words. _Please, Hans._

He swallowed, his fists clenching—but said nothing again, and fled the room.

* * *

He holed himself up in his room for the rest of the day, refusing meals and visitors, staring gloomily out the window at the fjord. He watched as the water turned from light to a deep, dark blue when day gave way to night, unable to sleep, his knees curled up against his chest.

When the moon was high in the evening sky, a soft knock pattered against his door.

He glanced at it in confusion, and then irritation, as the knocking did not subside despite his silence.

 _Go away,_ he hissed finally, holding his knees even tighter to him. _I’m sleeping._

 _Hans,_ a familiar voice whispered loud enough so he could hear, _it’s me, Elsa. Please open the door._

He frowned. _No,_ he said. _I don’t want to see you._

 _But I need to talk to you,_ the voice insisted. _Please?_

Despite his inclination to sit still and hope she would leave, he found his legs uncurling, and his feet padding towards the door. After a pause, his shoulders sunk down.

 _Fine,_ he said. _But only for a minute._

The door creaked a little as he opened it, and she quickly and quietly passed through. He looked out in the hallway once she was inside, and was surprised – if not also relieved – to find no guards stationed there.

He greeted her with apprehension as he closed the door. _What do you want?_ he asked, crossing his arms.

She stood in a pool of moonlight in the center of the room, looking down, her hands behind her back.

 _I just…_ she trailed off, and then looked up at him nervously. _I’m scared you’re going to tell people about my magic._

His shoulders raised to his ears, tense. _And why shouldn’t I? It’s… not natural,_ he judged. _Princesses shouldn’t have magic like that._

She embraced herself as tears pricked at her eyes again, and she began to cry. _I know,_ she whispered, sniffling, _but I don’t know how to make it stop, and…_ She looked up at him with despair. _You have to keep it a secret. Please._ A light snowfall cascaded down around them, and the boy looked around with wonder at the sight. _Mama and Papa would be so upset if they found out you’ve seen it._

His frown wilted at her plea, and his arms fell to his sides. He looked down at his hands, and breathed; the snowflakes fell into his hair all the while, cooling his skin.

_Fine. I won’t tell anyone._

As quickly as it had arrived, the snow dissipated, and the girl held out her bare hand to him.

He stared at it, bemused, until she remarked: _We have to shake hands on it. That’s what Papa and the other men do, when they make promises to each other._

He hesitated for another moment, looking down at his hand, and then at hers; at length, he reached his up towards the girl, and grasped her hand in his own.

As they shook on it, he noticed her staring at his hand, and realized that even through the glove, it was very warm.

* * *

The next few times they were brought together, he did not reject her requests to join the sisters’ company.

He remained stubborn in his refusal to engage in any activities he deemed too childish or girlish – playing with dolls and stuffed animals, for example – but he acquiesced to other games involving wordplay, or building great castles from blocks and whatever pieces they could all collect from around the room.

The younger girl had forgotten her dislike of the boy – deeming him trustworthy after her sister had informed her of his promise and subsequent handshake – and returned to her original state of inquisitiveness, though he rarely answered her questions. At her older sister’s request, the girl was more careful in approaching him, and no longer attempted to touch his red hair, or the numerous freckles dotting his cheeks, without express permission from him to do so.

The boy, likewise, grew more comfortable in the sisters’ presence, and even began to look forward to their prearranged play dates—though he was circumspect in not giving the appearance of this to them. He often rolled his eyes at their remarks or games, though these looks were taken less and less to heart by the girls as they grew used to his moodiness. 

By the second week of his stay, the younger one even managed to cajole him into reading to them.

 _I wanna hear a story,_ she whined, tugging a little at his jacket sleeve—something which would have annoyed him to no end a week before, but now produced no reaction. _Please, Hans. Tell us a story like Mama does._

He frowned at the comparison, but at her large and pleading eyes – and with an equally interested, if more restrained look from her older sister – he begrudgingly agreed to it.

 _Fine,_ he muttered, rising from his reclined position on the grass of the gardens. He plucked the book he had been reading and placed it in front of him, clearing his throat before he began. _“How the People shakes itself, as if it had one life; and, in thousand-voiced rumour, announces that it is awake, suddenly out of long-death sleep, and will thenceforth sleep no more! The long looked-for has come at last; wondrous news, of Victory, Deliverance, Enfranchi—”_

 _That’s boring!_ the younger girl exclaimed, pursing her lips. _I don’t like it. Tell us another story._

His frown returned at the remark, and he shut the book loudly for effect. _It’s not boring,_ he retorted, and turned his nose up in the air. _It’s history._

 _Well it’s booooring,_ she repeated, crossing her arms. The boy rolled his eyes and then plopped down onto his back again, placing his hands under his head.

 _I don’t have any other book to read,_ he said matter-of-factly, and shrugged, closing his eyes.

_Don’t you know any other stories? Ones that aren’t in books?_

The voice of the older sister caught his attention, and he opened one eye to look at her. _Plenty,_ he said, prideful. _But I guess you’d both think they were pretty_ boring, _right?_

 _Tell us, and we’ll see,_ she replied with a mischievous smile.

He paused, taking his time to draw their interest; finally, he turned over to lay on his side, propping himself up with an elbow. He rustled through the blades of grass beneath him with a gloved hand, looking at them with uncertainty, and exhaled.

 _Once upon a time,_ he started again, _there was a boy who could create fire._

 _Like the way I—_ the older sister interrupted, continuing more quietly: _Like the way I can make ice and snow?_

 _Yes, like that,_ he replied, his cheeks pinking. His answer made her eyes widen, and suddenly, he had both sisters’ rapt attention. He swallowed. _He could make bears and lions and big castles out of fire, and even make them look like they were moving in the air._

 _Like you, Elsa!_ the younger girl squeaked, giggling as he raised one hand to mimic this ability. The sisters’ eyes followed it, wide and entranced as they imagined what such power might look like.

 _His power made him different than all his brothers,_ he continued, his hand dropping, _and they teased him for it, saying he was weird and would bring bad luck to the family._

 _That’s so mean,_ the younger girl complained, looking put out. _I like his powers._

The older girl said nothing, and glanced down at her hands with some discomfort.

 _The boy liked his powers, too,_ he nodded, _but the way his brothers talked about them made him feel bad. And as he got older, his powers got stronger and harder to control._ He paused to clench his fists, tearing up grass without realizing it. _His brothers stopped playing with him. Sometimes, they wouldn’t even talk to him, and pretended that he didn’t exist._

 _They sound horrible,_ the older girl said, her brow furrowed with concern. _Brothers should be nice to each other._

 _Yeah!_ the younger sister agreed, nodding and frowning. _They’re so mean._

 _They were scared,_ the boy explained, though without much conviction. _He tried to stop using his powers so they would play with him again, but his fire was too strong, and they were afraid it would hurt them._

The older girl’s head dropped to her chest as she stared at her hands.

He noticed, but went on anyway. _So his parents told him couldn’t use his powers anymore, and they made him special gloves that wouldn’t let his fire hurt anyone ever again._

There was a silent spell following this part of the story, until the older girl asked, in just above a whisper: _Did they work?_

He swallowed again, his face tight and flushed, and rolled onto his back once more. _No,_ he said. _The boy’s fire burned through the gloves, and he was so upset from being lonely and scared all the time that his fire spread and burnt down everything else._ His expression was hard and stern as he stared at the clouds above. _The End._

The younger girl blinked in disbelief. _What?_ she asked. _What about the rest of it?_

 _That’s the whole story,_ he replied.

 _But what happened to him, after everything burnt down?_ The older one asked, crawling over until she was arching over him, blocking his view of the sky. _Did he escape? Where did he go?_

 _I don’t know!_ the boy snapped, making the girl recoil. _That’s just how it ends, okay?_ He rolled over onto his other side, facing away from the sisters. _Now leave me alone. I want to sleep._

The older girl scowled as the younger one pouted, complaining as her sister dragged her away from him towards the other end of the garden.

The boy shut his eyes tight where he lay, and buried his face in his hands.

* * *

The next time they saw each other was also the last time they would meet for a long, long while.

He had been withdrawn in the days following the story, alternating between despondency and short-temperedness with the sisters when they implored him to join their games. He was intolerant of their efforts to cheer his spirits, determined to stay in the furthest corner he could from them and only moving when pressured to by the sisters’ ever-watchful servant.

By the time he had started to come out of his dark spell, he was informed by his nursemaid that they were scheduled to depart the following morning. He would be given a perfunctory audience with the King, Queen, and their daughters, and then he would be gone.

And so it was on the morning of his departure that the boy found himself face to face with the sisters he had, by turns, spurned and accepted, their parents standing behind them as during their first meeting. As the King and Queen spoke to his father and brothers, who stood a foot away from him, the two girls’ large blue eyes were trained on him, hardly even blinking.

His palms sweated inside of his gloves, and he looked unnerved by their fixated stares. At length, the adults’ conversation ended, hands were shook, bows made, and his father, brothers, and their servants all began to make their way towards the ship.

The boy followed after giving a brief bow to the other family, and though he wanted to, he didn’t turn around to look at them again—not even as he heard the little one start to cry.

_Wait!_

The voice of the older sister broke through his resolve, and he could not help his head from turning to see her bounding up the gangplank to him, catching hold of one of his hands.

 _Hans,_ she breathed out after reaching him, panting. _I need you to—I want you to tell me—_

The shouts of her parents and servants faded into the background as she pressed his hand, drawing nearer to him. He listened harder than he had to anything else in his life, leaning towards her.

_How does it end? The story with the boy who can make fire?_

He was startled to see tears, and even fear, in her eyes as she spoke, and added: _I need to know—was he okay? Or did he keep hurting people?_

The boy opened his mouth to reply, dumbfounded; but after a pause, he smiled sadly at her, and squeezed her hand back. _He was okay,_ he told her. _He escaped, and went north, and became a King of another land. He never hurt anyone ever again._

She did not look convinced. _Are you sure that’s how it ends, Hans?_

His smile started to slip at that, but before he could attempt to assuage her concerns – before he could tell her _yes, Elsa, that’s how it ends_ – her trusted servant caught up to them, exhaling loudly as he placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

 _Your Highness, you really mustn’t do such things,_ he chided her. _You know the young prince has to go._

She pouted. _I know, but…_

While she debated with the servant, the boy’s nursemaid roughly dragged him up the gangplank onto the ship, forcing him to let go of the girl’s hand. As he did, she looked up at him with consternation, and then with sorrow as he stared down at her from the ship’s railing, his eyes betraying his confusion and upset at their hurried parting.

She cupped her hands together for a moment, and then blew something out of them in his direction as she looked up at him again, smiling.

_Goodbye, Hans!_

He followed the trail of whatever it was that she had sent to him, barely making it out in the air against a light blue sky and piercing sunlight, and caught it with both hands. Looking down, he opened them and – to his wonder – found one of her perfect ice creations in the shape of a flame in his palms.

The boy looked up, his smile matching the one the girl had worn, intending to say goodbye back—but as he raised his hand to wave to her, he felt an odd dampness on his gloves, causing him to look down again.

 _It’s gone,_ he said in just above a whisper, looking around him with dismay. He thought, perhaps, that he had dropped the flame of ice somewhere close by, or that one of his brothers or the nursemaid had taken it from him. After a while spent searching, however, his attention was brought back to his hands—those same hands which had caught the flame not long ago, and held it with such reverence.

The dampness of his gloves against his skin felt worse than ever, and he sunk to his knees on the floorboards, clutching at the bars of the railing as tears flowed down his freckled cheeks.

 _I’m sorry, Elsa,_ he murmured, and stared out at the dock, realizing that the ship had set sail, and the two sisters were already well out of sight. His small body was wracked with sobs.

_I’m sorry._


	2. II

**II.**

Years passed before the girl thought seriously again about the story of the boy who could make fire.

In the weeks and months following the prince's departure, certain things about him lingered on in her memory – his unpredictable temperament, his ever-present frown, and his warm, gloved hands – but most of all, his strange story continued to puzzle her young mind.

She and her sister pantomimed it again and again during their playtimes, pretending that the young prince was still in the room, reciting the tale aloud to them. She had told her sister the ending he had related to her before setting sail, and though she still found it suspect, it made for easier and more pleasant theater than the original one.

Inevitably, his absence could not be ignored, and they spoke of him less and less. They moved on to new games and stories that could be acted out using the older sister's talents, which had only grown stronger and more impressive with time. Their favorite remained building snowmen together, and they learned to keep a hidden stockpile in their rooms of carrots, coals, and twigs with which they could decorate her creations.

It was during one such occasion, two years after the boy's visit, that their regular routine went awry.

In the midst of creating one snow peak after the other for her younger sister to jump onto, the older girl slipped, accidentally striking her sibling in the head. In the panic that ensued, the girls were brought by their parents to a mountain forest filled with stone trolls, who warned that the older girl's magic would only become more powerful as she aged… and more uncontrollable, as well.

The trolls used their own magic to remove the girl's powers from her sister's memories, though they did not alter them otherwise. Afraid of her own strength and what other horrors it might inflict, the girl could not stop them from casting their spell.

Upon their return, the staff were reduced by half and the gates locked as the king and queen sought to keep their daughter safe—and to keep others safe from her. Where once she was asked only to keep her magic secret from those outside of family, she was now forced to keep it secret even from her younger sister. Though the burden was great, the original incident had left the younger girl with a streak of white hair, and it served as a permanent reminder to the older girl of what her magic had done. Thereafter, she could hardly bring herself to look at her sister, much less speak to her, without feeling shame.

_Conceal it, don't feel it, don't let it show,_ her father would repeat to her in her darkest moments, taking her hands in his. Eventually she began to whisper it to herself without his encouragement, integrating the mantra into her evening prayers.

The sisters' separation devastated their once close bond, as the older girl locked herself in her room for hours at a time, only leaving if absolutely necessary. She took all of her lessons, and even many of her meals, alone; during spells in which she refused to leave, her parents even brought her stacks of books to keep her occupied in her isolation. When she could no longer stand to be by herself, they would come to her room and read to her, though she still tried to keep some distance from them.

Her younger sister protested these special allowances at first, and continued to knock on the older girl's door every night with confidence that she would have to answer at some point. After a year or more of these thwarted attempts, however, she finally gave up trying to see her sister outside of certain prescribed events. She played alone in their favorite haunts of the castle – the library, the gardens, the gallery – and took to speaking to the portrait of Joan of Arc for hours on end.

The older girl watched her sister with sometimes unbearable grief, tempted more than once to open the door. Every time this thought arose, the memory of the younger girl laying on the floor of the gallery unconscious would accompany it, and this quickly quashed any temptation to remove herself from quarantine.

Only once in the year that followed did her desire to be reunited with her sister create cause for concern.

It was a beautiful summer day of blue skies and lush greens, and the girl looked longingly out of her bedroom window at the bustling town outside the castle walls. Just inside of them, she watched as her mother and younger sister smelled and pruned roses in the garden, their smiles wide and full of warmth.

The girl's hands tightened, and without realizing it, ice spread out from them, freezing the windowsill. She gasped and backed away, and then began to cry, calling out for her father. When he arrived and saw what she had done, he sighed, holding her in his arms.

_It's all right, Elsa,_ he said, and stroked her hair. _I'll take care of you._

She continued to sob into his shirt until she fell asleep against him. When she awoke, she found herself on her bed, her father stoking a fire in the hearth. She rubbed her eyes groggily, and then made her way towards him, confused.

_Was I asleep for a long time?_ she asked, squinting at the window. The ice on the sill was gone. _Is it nighttime already?_

_Yes, my dear,_ her father replied, and wiped any remaining traces of tears from her face, resting the poker back against the hearth. _And that's all right. You needed sleep._ He knelt down to her level, and from his jacket pocket retrieved a folded handkerchief. _But I have a special gift for you._

He unfolded the cloth to reveal a pair of leather gloves. _The gloves will help,_ he told her, slipping them, one after the other, onto each of her small hands. _See? You're good._

The girl stared at her covered hands, and something in her memories stirred, as if waking from a deep sleep.

_So his parents told him couldn't use his powers anymore…_

_Conceal it,_ her father began, waiting for her to say the next part.

She complied. _Don't feel it._

He smiled, and they finished together. _Don't let it show._

… _and they made him special gloves that wouldn't let his fire hurt anyone ever again._

* * *

She wore her gloves dutifully every day after that, and even slept in them at night.

When she was due for her first bath after they were given to her, she screamed and cried when her mother tried to coax her into taking them off, and then the girl froze the bath water when they were finally removed. She believed they had some special powers that could contain her magic like the ones in the boy's story, and so her mother relented, instructing the servants to allow the girl to wear the gloves, even while bathing.

It was a month before she tired of wearing them, hating the way the leather shrunk when wet. She paced nervously the whole night with them off, afraid that some great calamity would befall her and her family. But when the evening passed and sunlight arrived to her room, illuminating its familiar, unfrozen features, she was pacified, and took to only wearing the gloves during the daytime. Newly confident, she became a little more sociable with her family, accepting their invitations to family dinners and even taking a lesson with her sister on occasion.

Sometimes, though, when she looked at the gloves at night, she remembered the next lines of the boy's story – _the boy's fire burned through the gloves, and he was so upset from being lonely and scared all the time that his fire spread and burnt down everything else_ – and the memory made her shiver so much that she would clutch them to her chest, praying that her gloves were different from his.

On one evening shortly after her twelfth birthday, she was following her usual bedtime routine – reading, reciting some poems aloud, and writing notes until she fell asleep at her desk – when she was startled by the sound of the wind whipping against her window. It was so loud, in fact, that she imagined it was crying out to her, begging her to be let in. The shrieks and howls became a mournful song, and she walked towards the window as if in a trance, turning the locks up as she imagined nature's will commanding her to do so.

As soon as the window was unlocked, the wind blew it open so forcefully that the girl was thrown back onto the ground. She cried out in pain and winced against the gale, picking herself up with effort. She pushed hard against the window until it shut back onto its frame, and finally locked it again.

She panted as she closed her eyes and pressed her back to it, sliding down to the floor below in a heap. As she did, she noticed that the carpet beneath her was cold—as cold as if it had been frozen solid. She patted it with her hands in a fright, and then opened her eyes, staring at the wall opposite with paled features.

A trail of ice led from her seat below the window to that wall, covering it almost entirely in strange fractal patterns. She nearly slipped as she ran to it, placing her hands against them.

… _and he was so upset from being lonely and scared all the time that his fire spread and burnt down everything else._

The girl gasped at the sight of her still-gloved hands on the wall, and she shut her eyes tightly, banging her fists against it until she screamed.

Her cries summoned her parents to her room, and she turned to them when they entered, her hands tucked into her chest. _I'm scared,_ she said, sniffling. Moonlight bathed her figure, casting a long shadow on the frozen wall behind her. _It's getting stronger._

Her father's gaze was tender, but pained. _Getting upset only makes it worse,_ he said, moving to hug her.

_No,_ she snapped, backing away from him. _Don't touch me. I don't want to hurt you._

He stepped back and exchanged a mournful look with the girl's mother. His head fell to his chest. _I understand, Elsa. But…_ he paused, taking a moment to kneel down to her level. _Please don't push us away. We just want to keep you safe._

The girl's lip trembled at her father's words, tears pricking at her eyes, but she blinked them back. She bowed her head to her parents, saying nothing, and did not move again until her parents had agreed to leave.

Once they were gone, she went to the fireplace, intending to imitate her father by stoking the flames—but the fire had long since been extinguished, the remnants of the wind's chill hanging in the air.

* * *

Many years passed in this fashion, one after the other, until the girl forgot what life was like outside of the castle walls, or even outside the walls of her own bedroom.

Although she knew the gloves could not contain her magic, she continued to wear them. The original ending of the story of the boy who could make fire haunted her, and she feared what might happen if she discarded the gloves for good. At times, she could even will herself into believing that they had special powers again, and for a while this belief was enough to keep her magic at bay.

Nevertheless, she remained adamant in her refusal of her parents' embraces, as well as the touch of anyone else. She insisted on building her own fires in her bedroom, and on bathing and clothing herself, limiting contact with the servants as much as possible. Her previous willingness to take the occasional meal or lesson with her sister likewise withered away, and she returned to her practice of self-isolation, making exceptions only for her parents when they would call for her.

On one such visit during an early afternoon of her eighteenth year, sunlight streamed into the room from the window as they entered. She curtsied, her lips pursing with concern as she lifted her gaze to meet theirs.

_Do you have to go?_ she asked. Her gloved hands knitted together in front of her.

Her father sighed. _You'll be fine, Elsa,_ he said, and put on a half-smile to reassure her. _We'll only be gone for two weeks. And you can write to us while we're away._ He glanced at the ink stains on her white gloves for emphasis, and she looked down, blushing. _We'll look forward to reading your letters._

_Yes,_ her mother echoed. _You must write to us every day._

The girl – now a young woman – bowed her head, and smiled in spite of her trepidation. _I will,_ she promised.

Her mother smiled, and then glanced at her father's pocket watch. _Oh, dear—we really must be going,_ she murmured, touching his shoulder.

_I'll be with you in a moment, my love,_ he replied, and she nodded as she left the room, blowing a small kiss to her daughter before she left. The young woman curtsied in response.

Her father waited until the door had shut, and then turned to her with a more serious look. _Don't be afraid, Elsa,_ he said. _We are counting on you to be strong while we're away—for yourself, and for Anna._

The mention of her sister made the young woman redden, and she looked down, her voice shaking as she spoke. _It's hard, Papa,_ she whispered, _but I'll try._

He smiled sadly at her, and began the refrain. _Remember, dearest: conceal._

Her nose and forehead wrinkled, and she swallowed a grimace. _Don't feel,_ she continued.

_Don't let it show,_ they said together.

And with that, he pressed a kiss to his fingers, and then to the air, sending it to her; the young woman plastered on a smile, catching the kiss in her hand and bowing her head to her father as he left the room.

She sat by her window for the rest of the afternoon, watching anxiously as her parents embraced her sister on the path to the gates, and then as they were escorted through the gates by the guards, walked to the docks, and boarded the ship with their luggage. They waved to her sister from afar, and then at her own window as the gangplank was drawn back onboard, the ship ready to set sail.

She imagined herself bounding up to them as she had to the young prince when he left for his homeland, grabbing them and holding them tightly to her, refusing to let them leave.

She knew, though, that that could never come to pass—not with the way her hands balled up into fists until she could feel the snowflakes falling onto her nose before she saw them flurrying around the room. There was hate and resentment in her eyes as she regarded those hands, and she curled herself into a ball, burying her face in her knees, not wanting to watch their ship pass out of sight into distant waters.

_He escaped, and went north, and became a King of another land. He never hurt anyone ever again._

She shook her head in her lap at the memory, and the snow fell faster around her.

* * *

It was through that same window that the young woman stood in solemn silence and watched some of the funeral procession for her parents a few months later, their ship – and lives – lost at sea during a storm.

Her younger sister had pleaded with her to come to the funeral and to say something to publicly honor the memory of their mother and father. She had refused, telling her _you wouldn't understand_ , and staying in her room even as the younger woman trudged back down the hallway, sobbing.

Unable to see the full service from her room, she imagined that her sister had stood closest to the gravestones in the castle cemetery in her black mourning dress, a veil cast over her face, surrounded by their servants. The latter had probably been crying into their handkerchiefs as the priest had given last rites above the graves, gray skies casting a pall over the mourners. She supposed that as soon as the priest's speech had ended, rain had started to fall on the crowd, who all at once would have opened their black parasols and moved back towards the castle in a slow river of darkness.

She knew the ceremony was over when her sister returned to her door, knocking lightly.

_Elsa? Please, I know you're in there,_ she said quietly. _People are asking where you've been, and…_ Her voice cracked as she continued: _They say have courage, and I'm trying to, I'm right out here for you, so let me—_

Sniffles interrupted her speech. _We only have each other,_ she said at length, and a sob escaped her throat. _Just you and me. What are we gonna do?_

The older sister listened with a grieved, pallid expression as the younger cried, unable to do so herself. Eventually, she heard her slide down the door, and then the soft _thump_ of a head against its surface. On the other side of it, she herself knelt down until she was also sitting, her knees clasped to her chest, and exhaled.

_Conceal. Don't feel. Don't let it show,_ she whispered to herself over and over again until her throat was too dry to go on.

Around her, the room was encased in ice, with snowflakes suspended in mid-air.

* * *

The death of her parents threw the young woman's routine into chaos, upsetting the life she had come to know and grudgingly accept over ten long, arduous years.

With her regular lessons ended, she was expected to take over the duties of her deceased father—but only in part, as she could not be coronated until her coming of age. These duties consisted mainly of signing stacks and stacks of regulations and reviews and pardons and sentences, with new papers seeming to appear out of thin air just when she had finished a load of others.

She recognized that the work adhered to her parents' wishes of keeping her confined, and limiting her contact with those who were not aware of her magic. At the same time, she came to realize that these duties also kept her from attending meetings of her father's council, where the decisions which were written on the papers she was asked to sign were made.

It seemed a shame, she thought, not to read what she was signing; and so, over time, she began to send more and more papers back to the council with written remarks and suggestions for revisions, or dismissing other requests outright as wasteful or poorly thought out. The work kept her mind and hands busy, and she thought little of the painful things that had so often preoccupied her in the past.

Her primary contact with the council was through a trusted servant cum adviser, the steward of the castle: an older man, Kai, who had served since her grandfather's reign. As he had known her for so many years, she relied on him as a mediator and mentor, confiding in him to an exceptional degree on official matters. In addition to delivering new papers to her room to sign, he was responsible for relaying to her the council's pleasure – as well as displeasure – with her actions, and was tactful in delivering good and bad news alike.

During one of his regular morning deliveries, he paused after setting the newest stack of papers down, standing before her desk with a look of concern. _Your Highness,_ he said, drawing the young woman's attention away from the table.

Seeing his expression, she placed her pen down, her brow furrowing. _Yes, Kai? Is something wrong?_

He nodded. _Do you remember a Prince Hans of the Southern Isles?_

A lump formed in her throat. _Yes,_ she replied, her palms growing colder. _He visited here with his family when he was a boy._

_Just the same,_ the steward confirmed. _I'm afraid we've received some bad news. There was a fire in the palace several nights ago, while some members of the royal family were still asleep inside._

She shot up from her chair. _Was he—_

_No,_ the steward interrupted. _Thankfully, it appears that the prince wasn't there at the time, and was unharmed._

She exhaled as if for the first time that day, gripping the edge of her desk for support as she sat down. After taking a moment to recover, she turned back to him, her lips set in a grim line. _But some members of his family were,_ she remarked, and the steward nodded.

_His father, King Oskar, and three of his brothers,_ he said, sighing. _It is truly an awful thing, Your Highness, especially since it's hardly been a year since our own King and Queen…_

He did not need to go further for the young woman to know where his sentence ended, and she looked wearily down at her hands, and then at the papers.

_I know, Kai,_ she said.

… _and his fire spread and burnt down everything else._

The memory jolted her upright, and she turned back to her desk, her face red. _I should be getting on with my work,_ she explained, gripping the pen. _And I don't want to keep you from yours._

_Of course, Your Highness,_ the steward said, bowing, though he studied her pinked cheeks for a moment longer than usual. _But do call for me if you need me. I'll be close by._

The young woman glanced up at him to give a small and final parting nod, and then breathed once she was alone again, leaning back in the chair. She stared up at the painted ceiling of her bedroom as a light dusting of snow fell around her, unable to tear her eyes away from it.

The final words from the boy's story lingered on in the silence.

* * *

In the months and years after the first fire, others followed, claiming more and more of the Southern Isles' royal family along with them.

She was informed of each by the steward, and with each new report, his tone became less somber and more suspicious. She found the reports just as suspect, though she still urged the council to send supplies and goods to their woe-befallen neighbors in the south. She also sent letters of solidarity and condolences to the family which were, at first, dutifully received and acknowledged, and later went unanswered.

A part of her wished that she would have received anything from the boy, now a young man; but all the letters appeared to have been written by palace scribes, and signed by a member of the king's council, rather than anyone from the royal family.

Her councilmembers' concerns grew with each successive report, as well: where once they had written off the fires as resulting from poor infrastructure or other factors of insufficient leadership, they increasingly began to wonder aloud as to whether or not the tragedies were caused by accident… or by purposeful, malignant design.

None of the reports, however, indicated that the fires had resulted from foul play: in each instance, evidence had turned up which refuted the possibility of arson by domestic or foreign enemies. From old torches tipping over into hay bales in the royal stable, to servants slipping in a dining hall with a candelabra, there appeared to be an explanation for everything that was just credible enough to end official inquiries.

Eventually, the only survivors left were the young prince she remembered, and less than a handful of his brothers, all of whom were either hermits, invalids, or otherwise unfit to lead. In a state of disarray, the Royal Council of the Southern Isles had recruited the elder brother of the dead king, who was himself close to death – and perhaps senile – to take over the duties of the monarch. Even in dire straits, it seemed, they would not trust the kingdom to the youngest prince, and they offered no public clarification for their decision.

The young woman puzzled for hours over each piece of news in her room, doing her own reading and research, and wondering at the peculiar series of events. The total silence from the boy – no, _young man,_ she would remind herself – that she had once known worried her, and his childhood story continued to play on her mind.

The details of it, however – details that she used to have memorized so well that she could recite every line of it by heart – were fuzzier to her in young adulthood. All that she could remember was the ending: both the original, morbid one, as well as the one the boy had told her before he departed, which was considerably more agreeable.

Sometimes, she swore she could recall that the boy in the story had many brothers, and that he was mistreated in some way by them—but then she questioned if that was the tale, or if that was the reports from the Isles, their details mixing together in her mind.

* * *

While the fires did eventually cease, the stories and theories surrounding them continued right up until a few months before the young woman's twenty-first birthday, amidst preparations for her coronation.

Finding her bedroom too confining for all that she had to accomplish before the ceremony, she gradually reacclimated herself to other – albeit still private – areas of the castle where she could prepare. From time to time, she would run into her sister in the halls when migrating from one place to the next, and they would awkwardly greet each other with hello's and polite conversation. These exchanges never lasted longer than a few minutes, as she found the deep longing in her younger sister's eyes difficult to bear.

One of her rediscovered haunts was the library, where she took to completing all official business. On an afternoon two weeks before the coronation, she nervously paced in the room, her gloved hands fidgeting with a letter her steward had delivered to her a few hours earlier. It had been the only letter he had brought to her that morning – an unusual occurrence – and she had recognized the seal of the Westergaard Royal Family upon it immediately.

The sight of the seal unnerved and distressed her as much – if not more – than the daily lectures she had received from her tutors on proper attire and conduct for the ceremony. A familiar dread filled her senses at the thought of what new horrors it might report to her, but upon seeing a trail of ice on the ground following her steps, she finally stopped pacing.

After exhaling, she stared at the coronation portrait of her father which hung on the wall opposite from her.

_We are counting on you to be strong,_ the young woman heard her father say to her.

She swallowed, her chin rising to meet his faraway gaze. "I'll try, Papa," she replied to the air, and with a deep breath, she finally broke the seal on the letter, opening it with steady hands.

A soft gasp escaped her lips as she read its contents.

_Dear Elsa—_

_I hope you will forgive the belated nature of this correspondence. I read and received all of your previous letters of condolence and support to my family over the last few years, and they have brought me, my brothers, and my brothers' families much comfort in these dark times._

_The losses have been too great and too terrible to describe here, though I know from your own experience that you can appreciate what we have endured. I have been remiss to a degree that is inexcusable in not having reached out to you and Anna during your most desperate hour and after, and for this, you both have my deepest regrets and apologies. By contrast, you have been so gracious to my homeland, and I am eternally grateful and in your service for your good deeds, which far exceed anything that I could provide in return._

_This being said, I have wanted for a long time to try and make things up to you and Anna, and I wanted to let you know first that it is my intent to travel to Arendelle to attend your coronation in one month's time. With the rest of my family and the councilmembers preoccupied with settling affairs of state in the Isles, I will serve as my country's sole representative. I hope this arrangement is agreeable to you both, as well as to your council._

_Again, I apologize for the lateness and suddenness of this letter, and for any surprise or displeasure it might cause you in reading it. I look forward to being reunited with you and your sister under better auspices, and to see you crowned as the rightful queen of Arendelle._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Hans_

She scanned over the lines once, twice, three times—and then noticed a small crease at the very bottom of the paper, which she carefully unfolded to reveal a final note.

_P.S. I promise not to be such a sullen brat this time around._


	3. III.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't mean to repeat the events in Frozen just for the sake of repetition - rather, it is to show a new interpretation of them. One founded on how I see Elsa, based on the tragic circumstances around her upbringing, and which will tries not to gloss over everything that she suffered on her way to becoming queen.

**III.**

Despite her determination to be annoyed with the letter's obsequious and flowery language, its informal address of her and her sister, and the presumptiveness of its sender in postmarking it so close to the date of her coronation – thus leaving her no time to respond – the young woman found herself reading that last note over and over again to herself until the line became smudged and almost illegible.

After two days in her keeping, she asked for its contents to be relayed to her council, as well as to her sister. The former echoed her annoyance at the late notice and suspicion of the sender's true intentions, given the events in the Isles, while the latter bubbled with excitement at the prospect of seeing the mysterious prince again. While the younger princess's memories of her childhood encounters with him were faded, they still provoked a feeling of warmth upon recall.

She was glad to give her sister something to look forward to amidst all the hustle and bustle around the castle, both sisters being pulled to and from one engagement to the other. Since being cut down in size during her childhood, the staff had adapted well to the new challenges of managing the castle's daily duties—but even the hardiest among them seemed to struggle with how much was being asked of them for this specific occasion. The security personnel required for reopening the gates and managing the guests alone was much greater than anything that had been needed in the previous thirteen years, and she watched them rehearse and train in the courtyard from afar, their disorganization making her hands twitch with unease.

She did her best to accommodate their needs, understanding the difficulties they faced, but struggled to maintain a calm and even temper with all of their requests. The most challenging times were those in which she had to be in a room with her sister for her own rehearsals, finding herself ill-equipped to hold even the most basic chats. Eventually, her answers would become shorter and more elusive until the her sister would sigh and stop trying to push the discussion any further. Though these moments were painful for the young woman, she would silently repeat her father's mantra to herself, and the feeling would pass.

On most days, this routine and her father's words were enough to placate her agitated mind. But as the date of the coronation drew nearer, she found that their pacifying effect had weakened. When the day arrived, she came to the library to be alone, watching as the many unnamed, unknown guests from lands near and far filtered in from the docks, waiting impatiently for the gates to open. She wondered if the young prince was among them, and searched for a while to see if she could find him. When this effort proved futile, she finally turned away from the window, her gaze drawn to the portrait of her father.

It was his coronation portrait, and in an effort to calm herself, she removed her gloves and picked up a candlestick and ornament from a nearby table, holding them in the same manner as her father held the royal orb and scepter in the painting.

_Conceal. Don't feel._

Her father's voice broke through the silence in the room, and she swallowed in surprise, starting to perspire.

_Put on a show._

Looking at her hands, she saw that the candlestick and ornament had iced over. The sight caused her to gasp and slam them back down on the table, and she quickly slid her gloves back over her hands. She closed her eyes for a moment, and breathed.

"It's only for today," she told herself, exhaling.

A knock on the library door roused her from her brief meditation. "Come in," she called, standing in front of the table so that the visitor would not see her handiwork.

The steward entered. "Is it time, Your Majesty?" he asked.

She nodded, her cheeks returning to their normal pallor. "Yes, Kai. Tell the guards to open up the gates."

He bowed, exiting the room, and she turned around, catching her breath. When she looked down again at the table, she gulped.

The candlestick and the ornament were still frozen.

* * *

She did not see her sister for most of the rest of the morning and early afternoon; she supposed the younger woman had rushed out of the gates as soon as they were opened, having spoken of nothing else in the weeks prior. She was relieved to have her own space for a while, and by the time of the ceremony in the castle's chapel, she felt more or less prepared to go through with it.

The steward stood at her side before she entered through the chapel's thick wooden doors, a warm smile alighting his features.

"You are ready," he reassured her. "You've _been_ ready, for a long time. This is just a formality."

She raised her chin at the remark, her back straightening. "Thank you, Kai," she said, and with a nod from him turned back towards the doors. He retreated behind her with the other servants as the guards took their places. After a pause, she knocked on the doors as tradition dictated, and they opened for her.

The young woman tried not to look around as she walked down the aisle, though from the little she did see, there were not many faces she recognized in the crowd. This unsettled her until she caught sight of her sister, standing to the side of the altar, and the girl's proud expression and wide smile encouraged her to go on.

She reached the altar after the short procession, and then stood for what seemed an interminable length of time as the Bishop of Arendelle gave an esoteric and dull speech in a mix of the standard tongue and Old Norse. With nowhere to look except forward, she practiced slow, steady breathing to keep herself calm through the proceedings.

At length, the bishop placed her new crown atop her head, and then his assistant presented the royal scepter and orb to her on a silk pillow. She suppressed a swallow as she reached for them.

" _Your Majesty,"_ the bishop whispered to her, _"the gloves."_

Her lips tightened at the reminder, and with hesitation she removed the articles of clothing, one by one, laying them on the pillow. Then, she took up the objects in her hands, trembling all the while.

Once in her hands, she finally turned around to face the crowd, though she kept her gaze fixed on the doors. The bishop concluded the ceremony in Old Norse, and the strange language – along with the discomfort of being forced to hold the equally strange objects in her bare hands – disturbed her to the point that, as in the morning, the orb and scepter began to freeze over.

_Conceal._

"… Queen Elsa of Arendelle," the bishop finished in the standard tongue.

_Don't feel._

"Queen Elsa of Arendelle," the crowd echoed, and she breathed, quickly placing the objects back on the pillow and pulling her gloves back on with a nervous smile.

_Don't let it show._

The crowd rose as she walked back down the steps and towards the door, and though she told herself not to look at them as she passed, she thought she saw someone familiar smiling at her from the corner of her eye.

* * *

The reception in the Great Hall following the ceremony was more tolerable than she expected it to be, in spite of the inconvenient duties she was obligated to perform – namely, greeting and pretending to take an interest in foreign dignitaries – and the live music and wide array of fine foods lifted her spirits. She was even able to hold pleasant, albeit short, conversations with her sister, discovering that they still had some things in common (like their mutual love of chocolate).

Of course, this brief peace did not last as long as she would have hoped; when she had quickly quashed her sister's expressed desire to keep the gates open for longer, the princess had trudged off despondently in response.

In lieu of the awkwardness of her sister's company, she resumed her meetings with various visitors to her court, maintaining a veneer of thoughtfulness and curiosity in the discussions. Throughout them, her gaze often drifted over the rest of the crowd, seeking out any sign of the prince. After presuming she had caught a glimpse of him in the church, she had found no further evidence of him in the large room, and she wondered if she had imagined things, and he had never really been there at all.

The idea planted a permanent frown on her lips for at least an hour, and she was able to think of little else until her sister came barreling through the guests in the hall, an absurdly large smile stuck to her face. She pulled a young man behind her by the hand towards the front of the hall, approaching her older sister with cheeks red from running.

"Elsa," she breathed out, panting with excitement, "look who I found!"

The queen exhaled as if for the first time that evening.

"Prince Hans."

He bowed. "Your Majesty."

She paused, unsure of what to say next; the whole room had fallen quiet save for the musicians, watching and murmuring amongst themselves.

"I wasn't sure if you'd made it," she said uneasily, trying to ignore the stares. As her servants motioned for people to continue their conversations and dancing, she added with greater confidence: "I didn't see you in the church."

"I was—"

"He was sitting in the back," her sister interjected. "We actually ran into each other earlier at the docks, so I spotted him as soon as I got to the church." She grinned, poking his shoulder. "He looks pretty much the same as when we were kids, right, Elsa?"

"Just a little taller," he joked, and smoothed his auburn hair back with a smile.

She noticed with a raised brow that the hand in his hair was uncovered, and when she looked down to see his other hand – now out of her sister's grasp – she saw that the other was bare as well. The prince caught her look, but said nothing.

Her gaze narrowed for a moment. "Yes, he does," she agreed at last, and plastered on a smile. "How was your voyage here? Smooth, I hope?"

"Yes, thank you for asking," he said. "Arrived just on time. And – as the Princess mentioned – I was fortunate enough to bump into her shortly after docking, and we were able to catch up for a little bit."

"Yes, very fortunate," the queen said, her stare intensifying. "Will you be staying in Arendelle long?"

"For two weeks," her sister cut in again, and the prince grinned a little. "I thought it would be wonderful if he could join us for breakfast tomorrow. What do you think, Elsa?"

Her older sister's eyes flickered as she kept them trained on the prince. "I'll consider it," she replied, though her smile began to slip. "It depends on our schedule, of course."

The princess's smile faltered at the ambiguous reply, but she stepped forward after a moment, her voice still bright. "Do you mind if I take him around the castle? There's just so much to show him – the gardens, the gallery… oh, I can introduce him to Joan! And—"

"That's fine," her sister said, unable to keep some distaste out of her tone, "so long as you're accompanied by one of the guards. Now, if you'll excuse me, I unfortunately have duties to attend to with some of the other guests." She stepped down until she was at eye level with him, a warning in her gaze, and then turned to her sister with a softer look. "Don't be gone too long." The queen motioned for a guard nearby to come over to the pair, and told him: "Stay with them, please."

"Ok _ay_ ," her sister replied with an eyeroll, glaring at the guard before taking her guest by the arm. "We'll be back soon, I promise!"

They quickly curtsied to each other, and then the queen found her way to a another throng of new faces clamoring for her attention, her eyes following her sister, the prince, and their minder until they left the room.

"Your Majesty," an elder statesman said to draw her attention, bowing deeply. From the colors on his and his company's sashes and their fashionable outfits, she recognized them as representatives of France.

"Ambassador," she acknowledged, her pasted-on smile returning. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

"Not at all," the older man said. "Actually, your timing couldn't be better: we were just discussing how our courtiers have taken a liking to aquavit recently, and since it's one of your top exports…"

His voice faded into the background as she wondered about where the prince was then, in that moment: perhaps her sister had spirited him away directly to the gallery, or to the kitchen to complain about their thousands of unused salad plates.

The thought of how quickly her sister had taken to him – and of how quickly she had left her with him – put her ill-at-ease. She imagined the winding conversations between them, and to which unpleasant memories they might lead… and her stomach turned, wishing more than ever that she had been more careful with the company the princess kept.

* * *

As the hour grew late and the festivities continued unabated, she excused herself to the wide balcony of the hall for fresh air, pressing her hand against her forehead. There had been no sign of her sister, nor the prince, for some time by then, and her hands twisted around the sides of her dress, wrinkling the fabric.

_Don't feel._

"Your Majesty."

She stiffened, recognizing the voice, and then sighed. "You may as well call me Elsa," she drawled, "since that's how you addressed me in your letter."

"I'm sorry for that. I guess I got a little… caught up in writing it, and forgot myself," he replied, and she knew without seeing him that he was bowing. "I hope you can forgive me."

"I take it that Anna took you on an insider's tour of the grounds," she replied, ignoring his apology, and motioned for him to sit down opposite her. "You two were gone for quite a while. Where is she? And where is Andre—the guard I sent with you?"

The prince obliged, pushing his tails out from under him as he sat, and smiled. "I'm afraid she spent a little too much time at the fondue fountain, and excused herself to clean up some chocolate that had gotten on her dress. As for your man, he chaperoned her back to her quarters."

"Good," she said, though she did not match his expression, her lips pressed firmly together. "So now you're here. With me."

His smile twitched. "Actually, I've wanted to talk to you all night, but the princess kept me rather occupied until now." His gaze was fixated on her. "I would've come to you sooner, otherwise."

Her nose wrinkled as a tingling heat entered her cheeks. "Is that so?" she asked, though there was little curiosity in her question. "I should think you would've been equally eager to see both of us again."

He leaned back, his expression relaxing. "Naturally, yes," he said, "it's been wonderful to see you _and_ Anna again in person. It's been a long time, after all." He glanced down at her gloved hands, and then back at her. "Too long, really."

She held his stare for a time, studying his face, and frowned. "Why are you here, Hans?"

He blinked in surprise. "For your coronation, of course. I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

Her frown deepened. "After everything you've been through in the last few years? No one would blame you for not coming, least of all me," she countered. "In fact, I think everyone finds your presence here rather baffling, given the circumstances."

He sighed. "Am I expected to sit home and grieve when the queen who has given my kingdom so much finally takes her rightful place on the throne?" His brow rose. "I know what the others think and say about me. But I'm not here for them."

"Then why send notice of your coming so late?" she snapped. "After not seeing you in God knows how many years, for you to write me out of the blue like that was just…" She shook her head. "I don't understand, Hans."

"If I could explain myself better, I would," he replied. "Like I said in the letter: there's no excuse for not writing before. Life was… difficult, to say the least," he told her. "Both before and after the fires started. I wasn't keeping up regular correspondences with anyone, including you."

"That's not good enough," she judged, eyeing him with suspicion. "Just like the reports from the Isles weren't good enough." Her arms crossed, she stood, looking down at him. "There are things that happened in your country that I want to know the truth about. I can't even begin to trust your intentions, otherwise."

He bowed his head, still seated. "Whatever Her Majesty wishes to know, I will do my best to provide answers."

Seeing his open bearing, she sat down again, though her arms remained crossed. "Why weren't you crowned King, instead of your uncle?" she probed. "I could never make sense of that decision by the council."

A half-smile played on his lips for a second. "Oh, they did ask me to take the throne—I can assure you of that," he began, " _begged_ me, in fact, after Karl died—the last one of my older brothers fit enough to take over. But I refused it outright. I had no interest in being king of the ashes."

Her head cocked to the side. "But… didn't you see it as an opportunity to rebuild? To heal your country after it had suffered such great losses?"

"And 'win the hearts of the people' along with all those good deeds? No," he replied, "not after the horrors that had passed, and all the vicious rumors and lies about me surrounding them." His look was stern, but not cold. "I was considered a suspect early on in the investigations, and even after I was cleared following each incident, my reputation has never recovered." He leaned back, looking at the sky. "Can you imagine what the people would say if I were coronated, after all that? It would've given my father's council exactly the victory they wanted, in asking me to be king in the first place."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Even though no reliable evidence for arson turned up in all these years," he explained, "they were desperate to explain it as such, and to find a scapegoat to blame for everything to quiet unrest among the lords and ladies at court. I would have been very convenient, in that sense, since the controversy around my coronation would have completely destabilized the Isles." He leveled a knowing look at her. "Amidst the chaos, the council would likely have accused me of whatever crime they saw fit, and then ruled in my stead. I didn't want to give them the opportunity to do that, and so now they are left to deal with my uncle."

His answer was somewhat plausible, and she found the tension in her body easing without even realizing it.

_Don't let it show._

Her face hardened. "Where were you, during the fires?"

His expression fell. "In the first fire, I was out on a naval exercise in the Baltic Sea," he said. "During the second, I was at home, but on the other side of the palace in my bedchambers. It was a terrible night." He paused, wincing. "And on the third and fourth, I was visiting relatives – including my uncle, actually – some miles away from home." He pressed a hand to his forehead. "I can't describe to you what it was like to come home and find that everything – and everyone – as you remembered them so completely changed, or gone."

She was silent for a while, and then looked down. "I can understand it a little bit," she said.

He looked at her, reddening with embarrassment. "Of course—I'm sorry, Elsa."

Her lips pursed as she tried to keep her emotions in check, inhaling slowly.

_Conceal._

When she felt in control again, her gaze returned to his. "Then if there is nothing left for you at home," she said, "what's next?"

"Anything," the prince replied, resting his hands against the railing, and added: "Within reason. I don't think the hermit life that my brother Erik chose is for me, though I can see why it might be appealing to some." He eyed her with a smile. "Coming back here was on the top of my list."

She did not smile back. "Right. For my coronation," she echoed his earlier comment, before suggesting: "Or perhaps for something else?"

His brow furrowed. "I don't understand what you mean."

She glowered at him. "Come now, Hans: running into Anna just 'by coincidence' at the docks, catching her eye in the chapel, running into her again in the hall, disappearing with her on a long tour of the castle grounds?" She scoffed. "I can see what you're playing at."

He held his hands up in surrender. "Elsa, I—that really isn't my intention," he defended himself, looking at her in disbelief. "I can understand why you might have gotten the wrong idea, but Anna… she's like a younger sister to me, if anything. I came here for your coronation, and to see you both again. No more, and no less than that."

Her face grow hot. "How can you expect me to believe that?" she asked him, incredulous. "The last time I saw you, you were just a child—a surly little boy who wore gloves even during playtime, and who hardly spoke except to snidely comment on what my sister and I were doing." She scowled down at his hands. "Now, you're a grown man—friendly, talkative to a fault, who doesn't wear gloves at all, even to a queen's coronation." She considered him with indignant skepticism. "How am I supposed to make sense of any of that? How is _she_ supposed to, when she hardly remembers what you were like before? No, Hans," she said, shaking her head. "I can't, because it doesn't make any sense."

"It's not as if you're the girl I remember either, Elsa," he rejoined. "But you're right. I haven't told you the truth about everything that's happened to me over the last thirteen years. But how can I, in one night? Even if I'd written to you before, I still wouldn't have been able to tell you everything." He stopped for a beat. "But I can promise you that it's not Anna I'm after. It never was."

"Oh? Then what is it you're _after_ , Hans?" She glared at him. "And don't tell me that it's me."

The silence that followed her question made the heat spread from the queen's face to her toes.

She nearly choked. "You can't be serious."

His voice was quiet. "I wouldn't joke about something like this."

"You—I hardly even know you, and yet you'd presume to…" She laughed to herself, stunned. "Honestly, I'd be angrier if it weren't so absurd."

He was quiet for a while, and then remarked: "I wanted to be honest with you, Elsa. You deserve that."

"What I _deserve_ is none of your concern," she snapped, "and you wouldn't know the first thing about it, anyway." Her fists clenched until a tiny spell of ice began trickling out along her dress, and she sucked in a breath.

_Don't feel._

"I'm going to forget that this conversation ever happened," she said, "and I suggest you do the same." At his concerned look, she added: "And don't bother showing up at breakfast tomorrow; I'll make up something to tell Anna. Just be on the first ship back to the Isles in the morning."

He frowned, but bowed his head.

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

And with that, she turned on her heel and returned to the hall, the din of the crowd swallowing her whole.


	4. IV.

**IV.**

The queen awoke the next morning to a vicious headache, and she groaned at the sunlight streaming through her window across her bed, illuminating her drawn features.

Every scene from the night before came into clear focus as she slowly pried her eyes open, and she swore at herself for having a drink – or perhaps two, or three – towards the end of the previous evening. The attempt to forget certain conversations proved futile as they replayed themselves in her mind, drowning out the sounds of twittering birds greeting the morning outside.

_I wouldn't joke about something like this._

She rolled over, stuffing her face in her pillows, trying to block out the sound of his voice.

_I wanted to be honest with you, Elsa._

She raised herself up on her hands in a huff, marching over to her closet and throwing the doors open with a burst of wintry wind. She regretted it as soon as she saw her clothes covered in a dusting of snow, and brushed it off while muttering to herself, the headache unabating.

Just as she finished changing, a knock on the door made her jump, and her crown nearly fell from her hands.

"Your Majesty? It's Gerda," said the voice of a servant on the other side. "Breakfast is ready for you. The princess is at the table."

The queen almost dropped the crown again, blinking. "Anna is… at breakfast? Already?"

The older woman creaked the door open a little to smile at her queen. "Yes, Your Majesty. With one of your guests, I believe."

The queen turned red from her face down to her hands, still uncovered, and her mouth dropped open, then shut again, before she could manage to reply. "I see. Thank you for telling me," she said, and quickly slid on her gloves. With trembling hands, she secured her crown atop her head. "I'll be down shortly."

"I'll let them know," the servant said, curtsying and closing the door.

The queen leaned against her bedpost, shaking her head. A frown spread across her lips and remained in place even as she left the room, taking long and angry strides through the hall and down the staircase, muttering to herself when she was out of earshot of anyone who cared to listen.

She stopped just before the entryway to the private dining room and took a deep breath, knowing what waited for her if she turned the corner.

_I can promise you that it's not Anna I'm after._

She shifted her frown into a neutral expression with some effort, swallowing, and stepped forward.

Her headache was gone.

* * *

"Elsa! We've been wondering when you'd show up. I thought maybe you decided to sleep in, for once."

Her sister's exclamation forced the queen to present a smile, though her nose wrinkled as she did. "Yes," she replied dryly. She ignored the other person in the room even as he rose and bowed to acknowledge her entrance. "How the tables have turned."

Her sister laughed until she snorted, and the prince sat down again. "She's saying that because I'm _never_ up this early," the princess explained to their guest, grinning. "Elsa's always back at work by the time I make it downstairs."

Her smile dipped a little at this last comment, but the prince was quick to reply. "Is she?" He looked up at the young queen, who was taking her seat at the head of the table when their eyes finally met. "I can see that."

She stared daggers back at him until he turned away. "I feel very fortunate to have been invited to a private breakfast with you two," he said. "It's been a long time since I shared a meal with family," he continued, smiling sadly, "or something like family."

Her lip twitched at the remark, and she could barely restrain a scowl as her sister pressed a sympathetic hand to his. "Well, you have us, now," the princess assured him, "and you can join us for breakfast, or for any other meal, whenever you like."

Irritation crackled through the queen's gaze. "Anna," she said, "I don't think—"

"Don't worry, Elsa," her sister interrupted. "I already told Hans he's welcome to stay with us in the castle as long as he likes, so he doesn't have to go back home so soon."

The queen's mouth went limp. "As long as he likes," she repeated, oblivious to the servants placing her meal down in front of her.

"Yep," the princess said, smiling. "Won't it be great to have him around? Up until yesterday, we haven't had anyone else here in the longest time," she said, adding in a quieter tone: "I know it'll be a change from what we're used to, but… isn't change good, sometimes, too?"

Her older sister gripped her silverware hard enough to feel them start to ice over, and then she exhaled, compelling herself to nod politely in agreement. "It can be," she forced the words out, and then looked at the prince, her stare hollow. "And has our guest agreed to stay?"

His smile matched the princess's. "Yes, at least for the next two weeks of festivities," he replied, standing to bow. "Or for as long as you'll both have me."

The queen gestured for him to sit, and turned back to her sister. "We should talk about this later," she cautioned. "Anyway, please keep eating, or the food will get cold."

The princess pouted but went back to buttering her toast, eyeing her sister with mistrust in the silence.

The queen refused to meet the look, finding her gaze torn between her breakfast – which she had no appetite for – and the prince, who ate his meal with patient precision, his utensils hardly making noise as they touched the plate.

At length, she cleared her throat to get his attention. "So," she began, tapping her nails against her glass of water, "what were you two talking about, before I arrived?"

"I was—"

"We were mostly just talking about that time he visited when we were kids," her sister interjected, looking relieved to be speaking again. "He was reminding me about a lot that I had forgotten."

The queen swallowed, her stomach turning just as it had the night before. "Did he?" she asked. "And what did you remind her of, Hans?"

"Just the games we used to play together—or rather," he corrected himself, "of the games I used to _watch_ the two of you play, while I skulked off to the corner and complained." He chuckled. "I was really so unfriendly back then. It's a wonder you two were still so kind to me in spite of it."

Suspicion laced her stare at him as the princess giggled. "Yeah, you were a little on the antisocial side. But you did help us with those puzzle sets that I hated, and I almost got to dress you up in one of Elsa's gowns that one time, before you ran away."

The prince almost choked on a bit of toast. "I was hoping you'd forgotten about that one, at least."

The princess grinned. "Not a chance."

As they laughed, the queen watched their exchange between small bites of her meal. Observing how her sister's sunny, bright disposition was unflinching throughout, her shoulders and back relaxed slightly for the first time that morning, and she allowed herself a moment of peace.

"But you told us that really good story that one time, about a kid who could… make fire? Or something like that." The princess shook her head with a smile. "You had a good imagination for such a sourpuss."

He looked embarrassed by the reminder. "Oh, that? I'm surprised you remember it," he replied. "I just made it up on the spot. It wasn't from a book, or anything like that."

"I _knew_ it!" the princess proclaimed, clapping her hands together. "Even as a kid. I mean, I don't really remember it that well, but…" She trailed off, tapping her chin. "I think I was upset because you didn't give us a good ending, or something like that."

His smile flinched for a second. "No, I didn't." He sat up taller. "But enough about me. What about you two? Are you still getting into any trouble, these days?"

"Us? Trouble?" the princess replied. "No. Not really." She forked a morsel of smoked salmon over to the side of her plate with a sullen look. "Not in a while."

The two sisters exchanged glances at this, and the queen coughed. "Not for a long time," she confirmed, and took another sip of water. She shot the prince a dark look. "We can't afford to get into trouble."

"Well, Elsa can't, anyway, now that she's queen," the princess said suddenly. "Me, on the other hand? I do all sorts of crazy stuff. I just do it behind the scenes, you know? So it's not obvious."

"Right," said her older sister, her blonde brow rising. "It's not obvious at all when you're riding a bicycle in the hallway, whooping as you go."

"Okay, well, a _little_ obvious."

The two shared a genuine laugh at this, which lasted until the queen remembered the presence of a third party at the table. She cleaned her lips self-consciously with a delicate dab from her napkin, and when she looked up, she noticed him staring at her.

Her face flushed. "I should be going now," she announced, "as I have some work to attend to." She forced her head to turn towards her sister. "And I believe you have a meeting with Ambassador Dubois and his party starting in a few minutes, don't you?"

The princess slid down in her chair with a groan. "I forgot about that," she sighed. "Can't we take the day off? Your coronation was only yesterday, and—"

"No, Anna, we can't," the queen cut in with a stern tone, though her skin was still tinged red, sensing the prince's eyes on her. "And besides, it'll be an opportunity to put your French lessons to good use. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

"I guess," her sister muttered, crossing her arms and sliding down the chair further. "If I have to."

The queen held in a chuckle, her attention finally returning to the prince. "And you…" she paused, uneasy.

He glanced down at the napkin on the table next to her plate, and then back up at her. "I'll find some way to occupy myself, I'm sure," he offered, smiling in the same, unnerving way he had all morning. "Should you deign to have me at another meal, I would be honored to join."

"The library," she said suddenly. "We have an extensive collection; I think you might like it in there." After a beat, she added: "If I recall, you were quite the bookworm when we were children."

He nodded, a little taken aback. "Yes, and still am," he said. "I'll go there, then. Thank you, Your Majesty."

She did not like his manners – the overtness of his looks, the presumption of another invitation to breakfast, the use of her formal title – but, for appearances' sake, she smiled and nodded as she rose from the table. The prince and princess followed, curtsying and bowing to her as she left.

As she reached and then ascended the staircase, her heart pounded so loudly in her ribcage that she could hear little else.

* * *

The presence of foreign dignitaries at court meant that the queen could not avoid in-person meetings as before, and her morning was soon occupied by one new sycophant after the other. Each was more eager than the last to make an impression on the mysterious young queen, as well as make several unsubtle mentions of her marriage prospects and suitable candidates for her to consider.

Forced to endure their suggestions, she was at pains to smile through the conversations, and often tried to change topics to trade, politics, gardening, or really anything else. She snuck a curious glance in the direction of the library whenever she got a chance, and her nose would wrinkle a little each time she did, remembering who was inside.

When the last meeting with the Spanish ambassador had drawn to a close – she ended it early after the words "Prince Diego, a fine young man" had been spoken – she took a small lunch in her bedroom and walked directly to her guest's place of temporary exile, finding that her feet were leading her there before her head could protest.

She was unsurprised to find her sister with the prince, sitting at a table with a large book of maps open between them. He pointed at locations while the princess commented on them between bites of her sandwich; his handkerchief being empty, the queen surmised that he had eaten his already.

"Ahem," she said to announce her entrance, and the prince leapt up from his seat, bowing.

Her sister merely waved, gesturing for her to come over with a mouth full of food. "Elsa! Come and look at this. Hans has been showing me where he's traveled with the Navy."

She frowned a little as she approached them. "You know you're not supposed to eat in here," she scolded.

"Sorry," the princess apologized, grinning sheepishly, and stuffed the remainder of the sandwich in her face.

This earned her an eye-roll from the queen, who nonetheless took a seat next to her, staring at the prince with feigned interest. "So you've traveled," she said.

"Yes," he replied, smiling as he took his seat. He smoothed his bare hands out over the pages, pointing at the North Sea. "I was just telling the princess about my last trip to Scotland on duty, some years ago. We were out on a naval exercise and got caught in a bad storm with crazy winds. I was lucky to—"

He paused when he noticed that both sisters looked uncomfortable at his tale, their gazes turned down. Realizing his _faux pas_ , he sat back with an embarrassed look. "I'm so sorry," he said, "I didn't think—"

"It's fine," the queen snapped, glancing at her sister with concern. When the princess nodded, she repeated in a calmer way: "It's fine. You were saying?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said. "It wasn't a good story, anyway."

A silence settled upon the group until the princess broke it, remarking: "But his other trips sounded wonderful! He mentioned one to Italy, where he stayed out so late he missed his cleaning duties the next morning on the ship."

She giggled, and he chuckled in return. "It wasn't funny at the time, when I was sure I'd be whipped," he commented, "but I was able to squeeze out of that scrape, fortunately."

The queen smiled. "It's good to be a prince, isn't it?" she remarked, a hint of smugness in her tone. At his furrowed brow, she peeked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room behind him, and her eyes lifted. "Oh, Anna," she said to her sister, "isn't it time for your music lesson?"

The princess blinked, following the queen's eyes to the clock, and then sighed. "Yeah, it is," she admitted, dragging herself up from the table with a disappointed look. She patted down her dress, and looked at her older sister with pleading eyes. "Can this be the last of it today? I told Hans we could have tea together later."

She inhaled, and then relented. "Fine," she agreed, then said more gently: "You've been very helpful these last few weeks, Anna. Thank you."

The princess beamed. "Of course, Elsa. I just want to help where I can."

The two sisters curtsied to one another, and just before the younger one left the room, she grinned at their guest. "I'll see you later, Hans. But don't you _dare_ eat any of the chocolate eclairs without me!"

He smiled back at her. "I'll try not to, Your Highness."

She flashed him a wary look before finally exiting, and he laughed a little when the door closed after her, eyeing the queen curiously. "Does she really have a lesson," he asked, "or was that just an excuse to get her out of the room?"

She frowned. "She always has music lessons on Mondays at one. Not everyone has ulterior motives like you, Hans." Her gaze narrowed at him before turning to the table, and she brushed off the remaining crumbs from her sister's sandwich into her palm with a sigh. "She brought you lunch?"

He folded the handkerchief, calmly following her lead. "I thought I'd made my motives quite clear last night," he replied, "and yes. She was kind enough to bring it to me." After they had both finished cleaning the table, he shut the book and placed it under his arm, meeting her stare with one raised eyebrow. "I'm surprised you haven't sent me away yet."

She gestured for him to lead them as he walked to the original location of the book, following him with a straight and stiff posture. "I wanted to, when I heard you were at breakfast with her, but…" She swallowed. "Then I saw how you two were getting along this morning, plus just now, and I—well, I couldn't just throw you out of the castle in front of her." Her frown returned. "But you knew that would happen, didn't you?"

He paused in their travels to turn around and look at her, his smile cautious enough to invite suspicion, but not confirm it. "You really don't trust me at all, do you?" he asked. "I can't say I blame you; I haven't really earned it yet." He didn't aver his eyes from hers. "I was prepared to leave this morning, but Anna insisted I join her. And, remembering that you wanted to tell her yourself that I was leaving, well…" He shrugged and turned back around, continuing his walk between the library's endless, tall shelves. "I didn't want to disobey your orders, Elsa."

She stood stunned for a moment, and then stomped after him, her arms crossed. "How convenient for you," she hissed as she caught up to him, and then added with a crinkled brow: "And where did you find that book? I haven't seen it before."

He stifled a laugh. "The stacks at the end," he informed her. "Reminds me of the library at home." He continued after a beat: "I spent a lot of time in there, growing up."

In spite of her reservations, the queen replied: "I did too, in here."

He peeked at her over his shoulder, tapping the volume under his arm. "Then I'm surprised you didn't recognize this one."

She glared at him. "I haven't read _every_ book in here—just most of them," she retorted. "Nautical maps weren't exactly my favorite."

They arrived at their destination, and he smiled at her as he slipped the book back into place. "Then what is it that the Queen of Arendelle likes to read?"

She reddened. "History of architecture and mathematics, mostly," she mumbled, her arms relaxing a little, "and fiction, from time to time. Everything else I read out of boredom, or because—"

"You were told to?" he finished. "Yes, I'm familiar with that kind of reading, too."

Their gazes met in the silence that followed, and her cheeks grew redder upon realizing how closely they were standing next to each other. "Anyway," she began, stepping back from him, "I… I'm not going to ask you to leave. Not yet."

He blinked. "Oh?"

She pursed her lips. "Not because _I_ want you to stay, of course," she continued. "It's for Anna. She hasn't had anyone to talk to in a long time outside of me, and I'm not exactly the most thrilling company." The redness in her features had not abated, though her face softened as she admitted: "I haven't seen her this happy in a while, and I don't want to take that away from her."

Before he could chime in, she continued: "She does seem taken with you, to be sure, but… knowing Anna, if she liked you in _that_ way, she'd have told me so already, and probably in dramatic fashion." Something in-between a smile and a cringe touched her expression. "Thankfully, that hasn't happened yet, so I'm inclined to believe that the connection you two share is… innocent, for lack of a better word." Her gaze was penetrating as she added: "And it must remain so."

He bowed his head. "I wouldn't have it any other way," he said. "I'm just grateful to know that you're starting to believe me when I say as much."

"Right," she rejoined, her stare still circumspect. "Because your designs are on _me_ , not Anna."

"'Designs' makes it sound so… villainous," he remarked, sighing.

"Is that so?" she scoffed. "Then which term, exactly, would you prefer me to use?"

"Just…" he started, and then leaned his elbow against the shelf, his hand brushing against a divider. His gaze grew more focused. "Interest."

"Interest," she repeated. She glanced at his hand dangling a few feet away from her, his bare skin unnerving her again. "The kind of interest that leads you to sit on the throne, I take it."

"It's not about that," he replied so quickly as to catch her off-guard. "You said it yourself last night: if I really wanted a crown and nothing else, I could've had that already."

"Then what is it, Hans?" she asked. "What makes your 'interest' in me so different from all of that?"

He looked down at her crossed arms, and she followed his stare; when she realized the meaning in it, her skin flushed anew, and she aligned her hands to her sides.

"You know, I thought it was strange, at first," he began, cocking his head to the side, "how Anna never mentioned anything, in all our conversations over the last two days. I would've thought that she'd speak of nothing else, remembering how enthusiastic she was about it when we were children." He stared at her in a thoughtful way. "Not to mention that shock of white hair she has now, which I can't recall her having before."

At her silence, he resumed his speech. "But then I remembered the news of how the castle in Arendelle had suddenly been closed off, and how, for years afterwards, no one had seen either of you in person. I thought at the time that it might've been related to what I saw here, as a boy, but I couldn't be sure, and I…" He shifted in his stance. "Well, I had my own problems to deal with back then, and couldn't spend as much time theorizing about it as I would've liked to." He paused. "Talking to Anna, and then seeing you again, all those old ideas came back to me. I tried to bring it up with her in a roundabout way last night when we were in the gallery, after almost an hour of discussing our favorite kinds of sandwiches and chocolates, but she just gave me an odd look."

She swallowed. "What did you ask her, exactly?"

"If you two were still building snowmen in there," he answered, and her shoulders rose nearly to her ears. "She said, 'how could we build them indoors?' So I didn't pry further." He studied her red face and trembling hands. "I thought perhaps she was protecting you, but… given how chatty she is about everything else, I guessed that that wasn't it, either."

His tone was calm but directed as he continued: "Then, I saw it at breakfast – when you were gripping your fork and knife – and when she didn't even notice it, that confirmed for me that whatever is going on, I wasn't going to find out from her."

She bit her lip to keep it from quivering, but did not reply, staring at the ground.

"So I've been wondering, Elsa: what happened?"

She watched him take one step closer and sucked in a breath, her head snapping up. Tears stung at her eyes. "I—" she started to say, but her reply was cut short by her own, erratic breathing. "I don't want to talk about it."

His gaze softened. "It's all right. You can tell me."

She shook her head. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," he offered. "I might understand it better than you think."

"How could you?" she shot back at him, a deep frown etching itself onto her lips. "You don't know what it was like to be alone for all these years, to have to lie to your only sister, to not even be able to hug your own mother and father before they—"

She cut off her speech before she could finish, placing her face in her hands.

" _Elsa."_

A familiar voice and a warm hand on her shoulder roused her from her misery, and she looked up, half-expecting to see her father again.

Instead, she was greeted by a pale-faced prince who held her steady with his hands on her arms, and when she had gathered her senses about her, she stepped back out of his grasp, faintly aware of the traces of snowflakes still stuck to her dress.

She passed a gloved hand over her face. "I hurt her, Hans," she said in a small, strained voice. "I hurt her."

"How?"

Her hand dropped to her side, though she still would not look at him. "It happened a couple years after you visited," she murmured. "I struck her in the head by accident while we were playing, and… everything changed, after that." Her jaw tensed. "By some strange creature's magic, she was made to forget what happened—not just on that night, but on all the other nights before. Anything related to my—"

She could not bring herself to say it, her voice coming out as a croak. "She thinks she was born with that streak of white hair." She touched the spines of some of the books on the shelf next to them with shaking fingers. "She doesn't know, because she doesn't remember. But I do."

He was quiet for a long while, venturing to speak only when the temperature had become more bearable. "It's not just your powers that she doesn't remember, Elsa."

At his comment, she finally looked at him, bemused. "What do you mean?"

He brushed a snowflake from his shoulder, and watched it melt in the air before looking back at her.

"If she was made to forget who you were," he replied, "then how can she know who you are, now?"

"She can't," the queen snapped, and then paused, looking past him. "I made my peace with that a long time ago."

The prince's stare was piercing. "Did you?"

She scowled. "What does it matter to you, anyway?"

He took a step back, his head dipping in deference. "I'm just sorry to see you endure this alone," he said, and paused. His gaze tilted back up to meet hers. "Does anyone else know?"

Her eyes tightened, and her scowl morphed into a grimace. "No," she replied. "Only my mother and father knew, outside of Anna."

"And me," he reminded her.

The comment caused her cheeks to pink and her lip to curl with disdain. "Yes," she said, "and you."

His back straightened. "Then I should work especially hard to gain and keep your confidence," he said, and bowed.

"Don't be ridiculous," the queen hissed, her hands clenched at her sides. "Just understand that you were never supposed to see it, all those years ago," she continued, "and had I known sooner that you were planning on coming to the ceremony, I would've told you to stay in the Isles. What's happening now, is—was never _supposed_ to happen." She raised her chin, their gazes level, and added: "And I would rather go on acting as if you weren't here."

His brow rose. "But I am, Elsa."

Her scowl intensified. "Yes, but that doesn't mean I'll allow you to interfere in things any more than you already have." Her tone was direct and sharp. "I may not have the strength to stop Anna from inviting you to breakfast, nor to any other events where she might want your company," she continued, "but don't expect that this meeting here will be repeated, as I see no benefit in entertaining your 'interest' in me any further."

The prince was mute for a time, seeming to consider the proclamation. "I see," he said at length, his gaze lowered, and then flickering up. He bowed to her again. "Then I will abide."

When he rose to his full height once more, she was taken aback by the cool, calm sheen covering his peridot irises, and she swallowed. "Good," she said, a hint of anxiousness behind her reply. Her head dropped on instinct as she stepped away from him. "I—I should be going, now."

"Of course," he acknowledged, nodding in return. "Goodbye, Your Majesty."

Her face grew hot, and she quickly pivoted to walk back the way they had come. As she passed by him, their shoulders touched, and she trembled at the sting of warmth that coursed through her.


	5. V.

**V.**

The queen managed to avoid seeing the prince alone for several days after their conversation in the library, though as the coronation festivities continued, she could not escape his company at the breakfast table, nor during the larger evening parties held in the castle.

He was respectful of her wishes to be left alone to the point that she wondered if he had really been “interested” in her at all. He did not engage her in discussions, nor did he meet her eyes with that wry, knowing gleam which had so unnerved her during the first two days of his stay.

Nonetheless, she was still careful in sidestepping him at every turn: at private mealtimes with him and her sister, her comments were brief and given sparingly, if at all; at social occasions, she made sure that she was always accompanied by a guard or another guest; and when retreating to her bedroom or other private space to do work or rest, she had a guard stationed outside who was instructed to let absolutely no one in—even her most trusted servants.

Being mostly alone again felt familiar, and yet also strange. Her confession to the prince weighed on her mind, and she fretted over the implications of it, turning over every word that had been spoken between them and how any (or all) of it could be used against her. Given their individual reputations at court and abroad, she was conscious of what the increased number of eyes and ears around the castle might assume or say if they saw or heard the Mysterious Queen of Arendelle and the Last Prince of the Plague-Stricken Southern Isles alone together.

It was with some surprise, then, that she heard a light knock on her door at the beginning of the second week of celebrations, interrupting her mid-scrawl as she sat at her desk signing papers, her thoughts torn between political and private matters.

“Elsa, can I come in?”

She recognized her sister’s voice and stood, walking to the door and pressing a hand to it. “Anna? You know I’m working right now,” she replied.

“Can we talk? Just for, like, five minutes,” the princess pleaded. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you lately, outside of meals.”

Her older sister sighed, and – in spite of her instincts urging her otherwise – she cracked the door open slightly, and stepped out of the room. She gave a small look of disapproval to a young guardsman standing at the door, and then nodded for him to leave them. He bowed with a sheepish expression before walking away.

The princess watched the exchange with a raised brow. “He wasn’t supposed to let me knock, was he?”

The queen suppressed a guilty look. “It’s not that,” she lied. “I just wanted him to give us space, that’s all.”

“Right,” the princess said, unconvinced. After a moment, her expression brightened, and she continued: “Anywho, like I was saying: I haven’t seen you in a while, and I wanted to check in on you. You doing okay?”

The question took the queen aback, and she blinked. “I—yes, I’m fine,” she stammered. Collecting herself, she explained: “You seem to be really in your element this week, entertaining our guests. I didn’t want to distract you from that.”

“It’s been fun, for sure,” her sister agreed, “but I’ve missed you, too.” Her head cocked to the side as she regarded the queen, and a smirk graced her lips. “So has Hans, you know.”

Her older sister’s face turned redder than beetroot. “Has he?” she asked, though she ensured her tone was cool and uninterested. “I don’t think he knows me well enough to miss me, Anna.”

“I would beg to differ, dear sister,” the princess countered in an affected, snobbish accent. “I know it doesn’t seem like it lately, because he’s been quieter than before, but he’s been staring at you with such _longing_ when you’re not looking. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even listen to half of what I’m saying whenever you’re in the room.” There was a playful, mischievous glint in her eye as she continued: “But you’ve been playing hard to get. I mean, I know that’s your thing anyway, but it’s more fun to watch when you do it to him.”

When her older sister’s expression twisted at the remark, the princess backpedaled quickly. “Sorry, that’s not what I—I’m being a jerk. I’m just trying to say: I think he likes you, Elsa. Like… _likes_ you, if you know what I mean.”

“You have no idea,” the queen muttered so that only she could hear it, sighing. “Again, Anna: that’s not possible,” she said, her voice firm. “This is the first time we’ve seen him in fifteen years, and he’s only been here for a week.” She frowned, raising her chin. “If he ‘likes’ anything about me, I can promise you his feelings only go skin-deep.”

“I don’t think it matters if he’s been here five days, or five minutes,” the princess proclaimed, “not if it’s true love. You’d just _know_ if it was meant to be.”

Her older sister rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Uh-huh,” she replied. “So I guess if you thought Hans was ‘the one’ when you met him on Monday, you two would’ve been married by Tuesday.”

“Yep,” the princess nodded. “And sure, when I first ran into him, I did have some thoughts along those lines,” she admitted, blushing. “After all, he’s _really_ handsome, and his hair color is kinda like mine, and he also loves sandwiches, so, you know, in another universe we could have been soulmates, theoretically.” The red in her cheeks faded as she grinned. “But he kept asking about you that first night – not too much, but just enough to make me wonder – and then I saw the way he looked at you the next morning, and in the library, and the way he’s been looking at you ever since, and… it’s just so obvious that he’s crazy about you,” she concluded with a gentler smile, winking at the queen. “Can’t say I blame him. You are really beautiful, after all—and smart, and—”

Her older sister blushed again, looking away. “That’s enough,” she said, hugging her arms around her waist. “I don’t need your flattery, or his. And I don’t think you should be advocating on his behalf, or trying to play matchmaker.” Her lips curled. “He can speak for himself, if that’s his intention—though I’m not interested in the slightest.”

“Well that’s just the thing, Elsa,” the princess said, frowning. “You don’t even give him a chance to talk to you, let alone make his case. You just shut him out, the same way you always do to me, and—”

A sudden, cold wind swept through the hallway and cut her comment short, and her teeth chattered as she wrapped her arms around herself.

The queen’s eyes widened as she realized its source, bracing her hands at her sides and curling her fingers into fists. “You should go,” she said quietly, turning towards the door. “I have to get back to work.”

The princess’s eyes tightened. “Fine,” she snapped, “I’ll go. But…” She paused, pressing her hands together. “Just think about what I said. Please.”

The two shared one last look before the princess left, and when she was finally out of sight, her older sister re-entered her bedroom and pressed her back up against the doors with a shaky exhale.

It was not until a few minutes later that she realized she was still gripping the doorknob, the metal frozen solid within her grasp.

* * *

To the queen’s displeasure, she did indeed think about her sister’s comments for the rest of the afternoon into the evening.

In fact, by the time she was expected in the main parlor room for an evening of musical performances and poetry readings by the lords and ladies of her country – as well as those in the diplomatic entourages staying in the castle – she was still so agitated by the unanticipated meeting with her sister that she could hardly summon the pretense of care for the activities held in her honor.

She gave the hollowest of smiles and perfunctory nods to each performer, thankful that she did not have to speak much; it took most of her concentration not to turn her head, knowing that a few feet behind her sat the subject of her consternation. Alert to his presence, her body was taut with tension, the only sign of her sentience being her fingers as they continuously smoothed, and then creased, the paper program in her lap. She did not shift in her seat for what seemed like hours, even when she felt several of her limbs start to go numb.

Her sister sat at a distance from her, closer to the prince, and made up for the queen’s lack of enthusiasm with passionate applause and outpourings of praise. The princess’s charms distracted the guests and the performers alike enough for her older sister to make an early exit just after the end of the last song, though her attempt to elegantly leave the room was stunted by her still-sleeping right leg.

A hand deftly caught her before she fell on her face, and without even looking up, she knew who it was that had saved her from public embarrassment.

“Ha—Prince Hans,” she corrected, her cheeks pinking. “Thank you.”

He nodded as he helped her to stand. “Glad I caught you, Your Majesty. Please, let me walk you out.”

Her nose wrinkled as she swallowed a frown. “Thank you,” she repeated, though with an edge of unease.

The curious expressions of the princess and other guests followed them as he escorted her out of the parlor and into the hallway, where several guards stood by, watching them. He smiled. “I’ll be leaving you here, then, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing, “in these fine men’s capable hands.”

The color in her face had not dissipated, but she put on a formal, regal bearing in the presence of the men. “I’d like to speak with you, Prince Hans, unless you’re otherwise engaged.”

His brow raised, and he bowed again. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

She forced a smile onto her lips, and took a candelabra off the wall next to her. “Good. Follow me, please.”

She led the prince through winding hallways in silence until they reached a large set of ornately painted doors, and her gaze fixated briefly on the blue and green snowflake and flower patterns upon their surface before opening them onto the gallery.

“Not really the most private place for a conversation,” he remarked, his voice echoing off the tall ceilings as he peered through the darkness at the paintings on the walls. “Ah—there’s Joan again,” he mentioned, pointing at the familiar figure by the second set of doors on the opposite end of the gallery.

“We’re not staying here,” she said, and motioned for him to follow her through those doors into another, smaller hallway. On the left was a tall, dark door with a sheen of dust covering the knob, and she blew it off, reaching into the pocket of her dress for a set of keys.

“Do you always have those at the ready?” he joked, and she flashed him a glare as she slid an indistinct, black key into the door, unlocking it.

The hinges creaked as they entered, and she lit a few other candles in the room as the prince took in his surroundings. “Where are we?” he asked.

“My father’s private study,” she said, not looking at him. The room was still filled with the former king’s myriad possessions: hundred year-old books, artifacts from the ancient world, and a collection of medieval swords displayed above the cobweb-filled fireplace. Her eyes were drawn to the globe and compass on the desk, and next to them an old journal, its pages yellowing. “It hasn’t been used since…” She trailed off, her gaze tightening as she turned to the prince. “There aren’t many places where you can meet someone alone in this castle without the risk of people talking.”

He crossed his arms, stepping a few paces closer to her. “So did you pretend as if you were about to fall back there, just to bring me here?”

She frowned. “No. I had planned on trying to meet with you alone, but… not in that way.”

“Well, you certainly weren’t giving off the impression that you wanted company,” he said. “If anything, the way you bolted out of the room the first chance you got—I figured I just got lucky, catching you on the way out.” He added: “No pun intended, of course.”

At her silence, he continued: “So, Elsa? To what do I owe the rare occasion of a private audience with you?” A smirk rose and fell on his lips. “The last time we spoke like this, I seem to remember you saying that it was never to be repeated.”

She took a step towards him, her eyes burning with controlled ire. “I’ve had enough of this, Hans,” she snapped, her hands pulsing at her sides. “Using my own sister to further your advances—it’s deplorable, and I won’t have it. You know how good-hearted she is – how much she wants to help people – and for you to take advantage of it for such ridiculous purposes is just—”

“Elsa, I don’t know what happened,” he interrupted, his brows stitched together in bemusement, “but I promise you that I wouldn’t ask Anna to do anything for me, let alone help me in my… _advances_ towards you, as you put it.”

“Of course,” she sneered. “You didn’t ask her to tell me how she’d seen the way you look at me, and how you’d asked questions about me, and how you’re _crazy_ about me, and how awful I am for ignoring you and not letting you make your case.” Her arms crackled with energy as the air grew colder. “She just made all of that up on her own, right?”

His eyes widened, and he paused when she finished, his breath visible against the dark. “You know, Elsa,” he said finally, “Anna is quite an intelligent young woman – not deaf, dumb, nor blind, as far as I can tell – and I’ve heard her make rather astute observations all week.” His brow rose. “Isn’t it possible that she’s just seeing what’s there?”

“No,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “Which is exactly what I told her. Those feelings she talked about, they don’t just come out of thin air—they’re the product of time, of being with someone, of truly understanding them.” Her stare was hard and full of reproach. “And you don’t have any of that with me.”

His gaze back at her was patient and soft. “But I could,” he replied, “if you let me.”

She shook her head, about to offer a rebuttal, but he interjected again. “Look, I’m not going to try to convince you by saying that we’re fated or meant to be, when _I_ don’t even believe in any of those things. I just want to get to know you, and for you to know me.” He took a step closer to her, and crossed his arms. “I can’t imagine how hard and lonely it must have been for you, growing up within these walls with so few people to talk to—and wearing those all the time, to boot,” he said, gesturing at her gloves, “even though they clearly don’t work. But I already know about your powers. In fact, I’ve known for most of my life, and I’ve never told anyone else about them. Do you know why?”

Her lip trembled as her head dipped, and she said nothing.

“I didn’t tell anyone because a long time ago, a very scared little girl asked me not to. So I didn’t.” He unwound his arms from his chest as the chill in the room diminished. “And now I am asking her to trust me again, as she once did.”

“And why should I?” she asked, sucking in a breath as she shuddered.

“Because I _do_ know you, Elsa,” he replied in earnest. “Even if it’s just a little bit—it’s still more than what most people know.”

She scowled. “I’m more than my powers, Hans,” she said. “So if all you’re interested in is that, then—”

“Of course it’s more than that,” he cut in, and when she looked up at him, she was startled to see how little space remained between them. “Seeing how you’ve struggled for so long, and yet have come out on the other side as accomplished as you are… you’re remarkable. And you always have been.”

Taking advantage of her embarrassment at his praise, he went on. “Obviously, I won’t ever fully understand what it was like for you, here,” he acknowledged. “But… you remember how moody I was as a boy?” At her nod, he continued: “I’ve known some of what you’ve described in my own life. And I don’t want you to have to suffer like that anymore. Not if you can be your true self with someone.”

She gave him a pointed look. “That ‘someone’ being you, you mean.”

He leaned back. “If you’re comfortable with that, then yes. With me.”

She was quiet for a long time, and then pressed a finger gently to her father’s globe behind her. She spun it until she landed on a familiar territory, and then spoke. “When the fires started in the Isles, I couldn’t help but think back to that story you told me as a child,” she began, staring at the dark sphere. “When we were younger, Anna and I used to put on entire productions of that story, making up our own versions of what happened to the boy when he grew up.” She cocked her head to the side. “I used to wonder if you made the story up just for me, since I was so similar to the boy—and it frightened me, thinking that I might end up using my powers the way he did. So I would always make sure we performed happy endings.”

She paused. “After the accident, when I couldn’t play with her anymore, all I could think of was the first ending you told us: the one where the boy burns everything down.” Her look turned wistful. “Because I was alone so often, I even imagined that I could talk to him sometimes—that I could ask him why he did it, or what it felt like to hurt people.” She gazed up at him, the weight of painful memories present in her brow. “I wondered if he’d felt the way I did when I hurt Anna.”

He looked perturbed by the admission, and said nothing.

In his silence, she continued: “Eventually, I forgot about the boy, and most of the story, too. But I didn’t forget about you, Hans.” She held her face forward so that it was better lit by the candelabra on the desk. “And when I learned that you were still alive after the first fire, I had Kai and a few other advisers do some research on the Isles. I, meanwhile, read everything I could on your country’s history, politics, _et cetera_.”

She rotated the globe until it was facing him, and the location under her index finger became visible under the candlelight. “So I learned a few things about you, in the process: the names of all twelve of your older brothers, the tragic death of your mother in childbirth, and the nick name some of them would call you by. The ‘Unlucky Thirteenth,’ I believe.”

The prince’s tongue clicked in his mouth as his expression hardened, becoming unreadable. “Yes,” he drawled, “among others.”

“And that’s the thing, Hans,” she said. “The reports, the research, the books: the pictures they painted were fine and noble, like the ones hanging in the gallery, and you really had to look hard at them to see the bits of darkness at the edges.” She stared at the wall behind him, upon which just such an old royal portrait of her grandfather hung. “They gave an impression of who you were, but… the only real thing I had to hold onto all these years were my memories of you as a boy, and I didn’t feel like I could trust anything else.” Her eyes flickered to meet his. “Not until we’d met again, and I could see you for myself—find out who you’d become.”

His jaw was tight at her speech. “And what do you think now, Elsa?”

Her head tilted as she regarded his features, half in shadow. “I think I still didn’t really understand much about you, until tonight—until you started guessing at what my life has been like.” Her gaze was relentlessly probing. “I realized that you probably see yourself in me; that you see your childhood in mine, and think that is why we should understand each other. Why we should… _be_ with each other. Isn’t that right, Hans?”

He smiled a little. “I think I underestimated you, Elsa,” he replied. “And I think you underestimate yourself, as well. You’re magnificent.”

The queen’s face flushed at the compliment. “You’re trying to distract me with flattery,” she snapped. “It won’t work.”

“I know it won’t,” he agreed, still smiling. “I just wanted to see you blush.” At her annoyed look, he said in a more serious way: “You’re right, of course: I saw our shared tragic pasts as a way in, and I’m using it to try to get closer to you.”

She blinked in surprise at the confession, and he continued before she could reply: “But is that such a bad thing? To actually talk about it?” He stepped forward again, and the distance between them shrunk to a foot. “It’s like you said: we hardly know each other, even with all the books and research – which, if you haven’t already guessed, I’ve done as well on you and your country – but it seems as though we have a few things in common, even if you are loathe to admit it.”

She found her face craning up to look at him before she could stop herself from doing so. “I suppose we do,” she conceded, her voice hushed. “But…”

“What is it?”

Her eyes closed tightly shut. “I could hurt you,” she said. “I could hurt you, and I wouldn’t know how to make it better.” They reopened with effort, blinking back tears. “I can’t keep you – or anyone – safe from it.”

“And I’m not asking you to,” he said, “because I’m not afraid.” He held out a hand towards her. “Here,” he said, “let’s shake on it. Then you’ll know I mean it.”

She stared at his hand with hesitation, and then moved hers towards it, her posture stiffening. He nudged his hand back an inch, and clicked his tongue again.

“The gloves, Elsa.”

She looked down at her hand, and then back at him with a frown. “You got to keep yours on last time, if I remember correctly.”

A smile passed across his face. “Yes, I did,” he agreed, “but this is different. This is me saying that I trust you.” He held his hand out again. “Do you trust me?”

Her breathing grew shakier as she considered his question, staring down at her hands as they nervously rubbed together. After what seemed like an eternal pause, she removed the glove from her left hand, finger by finger, until her skin was completely bare.

The sight of it caused her to tremble as she raised her hand to his, placing it against his palm. His grip was careful but firm, and also warm—so warm, in fact, that she withdrew her hand a few moments later.

Her skin tingled even as she slid her glove back onto her hand, but her gaze eventually found its way back towards him. She inhaled sharply. “We should go,” she said, “or else—”

“People will start talking?” he finished with a slight grin. “Yes, you said before. And I think you’re right,” he agreed, offering her his arm. “Shall we?”

The queen refused it, though without her previous sternness. “No, thank you. But…” She fidgeted under his stare, and went to busy herself with dousing the candles she had lit around the room. “I wouldn’t mind if we spoke again, like this.” Her nose wrinkled as she held in a sneeze from a cloud of dust that was kicked up after she blew out the last candle. “But perhaps not in here.”

His eyes seemed to twinkle as he held in a laugh. “I’d like that.”

She took up her original candelabra as he opened the door, and after checking that the hallway remained clear, he motioned for her to come out and lock the door again.

Slipping the keyring back in her pocket, she sighed in relief, standing next to him by the second entrance to the gallery. “If you go through there, you’ll be able to make it back to the main hall without too much trouble,” she told him, nodding in that direction.

“And you?” he asked, staring down the small hallway.

She allowed herself a half-smile. “I’m retiring for the evening. I suggest you do the same.”

He bowed, his grin dissolving. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

She acknowledged the gesture with a small nod, and waited for him to enter the gallery before staring down at the red carpet beneath her, her left hand rising from her side into her field of vision.

Even while gloved, her fingertips were pulsing, as if licked by flames.


	6. VI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that everyone already knows what the “twist” is going to be in this fic from the title and the many unsubtle clues I have left along the way. So I am just going to try to keep you all in suspense anyway with how exactly I’m going to get there.

**VI.**

Breakfast was a considerably more pleasant affair the next morning, the queen demonstrating little of the animosity which had come to dominate her interactions with the prince over the previous week.

“Last night was rather interesting,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone try to recite Shakespearean sonnets and play the violin at the same time. Sort of impressive, in its own way.”

She laughed mid-chew, placing her fork down as she fought to swallow her bread. “Yes. Can’t blame them for trying, anyway.”

“And what about that flautist?” he added with a grin. “I’m all for contemporary, original compositions, but…”

“It sounded like a dying bird,” she finished. “A very loud, dying bird.”

The princess, perplexed by their easy rapport, was quiet as she picked at her food in-between glances at them.

The queen eyed her with a smile. “Anna? You’ve hardly touched your toast. That’s unlike you.”

The younger woman’s nose wrinkled. “I’m just surprised,” she said with a sniff, staring at her sister suspiciously. “You’re not usually so chatty in the morning.”

When the queen looked down in embarrassment, the princess quickly added: “Not that that’s a bad thing. Actually, I like the change. It’s good for us. Plus, who wants to hear me yammer on all the time? We all need a break from that, including me.”

“You don’t ‘yammer,’ Anna,” the prince protested through a half-smirk. “I like how you talk. It’s genuine and… frank.”

“He’s right,” the queen agreed, and admitted: “I can hardly hold a conversation by comparison.”

The princess waved away the comments. “I can tell when you’re lying, Elsa. And Hans—you’re a better liar than she is, but your smooth talk gives you away.”

He leveled a lopsided smile at her. “Is that right?”

“It is,” she replied, her chin raising with confidence. After a beat, she noted with a sly look: “But don’t let that stop you from giving me compliments. Even if they’re fake, I’ll take ‘em.”

The prince and the queen chuckled, and as their gazes met, their faces pinked, and they promptly directed their eyes back down at their plates, resuming their meals in silence.

The princess picked up the conversation again a few moments later, relating some anecdotes from her lessons and recent meetings with ambassadors and various nobles. Her sister and the prince nodded along, adding comments occasionally, until the clock struck nine.

The queen blinked. “I lost track of time,” she excused herself as she dabbed her lips with a napkin and rose from the table. “I have to be off, now. I’ll see you both later.”

“Elsa, wait!” her sister called, rising and rushing to her side. A small, furtive smile played on her lips. “Can we talk for a minute?”

The queen glanced at her pocket watch. “Fine. But only for a minute,” she agreed, and turned to the prince. “If you’ll excuse us, Hans.”

He bowed. “Of course.”

The princess led her older sister away to a secluded corner of a narrow hallway some distance from the dining room, her eyes bright and curious. “So? Did you two kiss and make up?” She grinned. “I saw you leave together last night at the end of the concert.”

The queen’s face flushed. “We… came to an understanding of sorts, yes,” she replied, and frowned. “But no kissing was involved.”

“An ‘understanding,’ huh?” the princess repeated, her grin growing. “What exactly does that mean, Elsa?”

“Not what you think it does, apparently,” her sister said, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. “We just talked, that’s all.”

The princess raised her hands in surrender. “If you say so. I’m just happy you’re talking to him again.” Her eyebrows waggled with interest. “Did my little speech to you help, after all?”

The queen sighed, her expression relaxing. “Maybe a little bit,” she conceded. When the princess gave her a pointed look, she clarified: “Okay—maybe a _lot_. Anyway, it’s resolved now.”

“Good,” the princess nodded, smiling. “I’m glad.” She curtsied to the queen, who responded in turn, and then began to walk away. After a brief pause, she looked back at her sister over her shoulder, her smile becoming devious again. “So you won’t be mad if I tell you that I told Hans to meet you this afternoon in the rose garden, right?”

The queen stood stock-still, her skin the color of a ripe strawberry. “Anna, you…” Her hands fell to her sides, and she stuttered, flustered. “That’s the middle of the day, and you know I have—”

“Meetings and paperwork and other business, yes, I know,” her sister finished, her smile unrelenting. “Don’t worry—this won’t interfere with any of that. I checked your schedule with Kai last night while you were gone, and told him that we were going to take a walk together today for a break from all of the guests.” Her expression grew softer. “Don’t be upset with him, though; he seemed really happy about us spending time together. Otherwise, I don’t think he would’ve told me a thing.”

The queen opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out.

The princess smirked. “Anyway, he’ll be expecting you around two. Don’t keep him waiting.”

And with that, the younger woman skipped out into the hallway, humming the strange, cacophonous flautist’s tune from the night before.

* * *

Against her better instincts, the queen found herself walking toward the rose garden at the appointed time—though she deliberately walked very slowly so as not to be too punctual, or seem too eager.

She cursed the meeting under her breath as she traveled, as the thought of seeing him in such a place – and of her sister’s maneuvers in arranging it – had distracted her the entire morning, making her appear inattentive and careless at some of her meetings. Recalling the strange warmth of his hand, she had even smudged the ink of her signatures on various papers, and had had to send them back to be re-written.

She had sworn at various points that she would not go to meet him after all, and by noon she had convinced herself that she was going to disappoint him and the princess in order to keep her own sanity intact.

When the old steward had noticed her distraction and asked if she was feeling unwell, she had said yes; this half-truth had given her an excuse to leave her last engagement early, so that she could collect her bearings alone. In solitude, however, the temptation to go grew ever larger in her mind, to the point that when the clock struck quarter past one, she rose from her bed as if possessed, and left.

Initially passing many servants and courtiers on the way to the garden put her in a nervous state, and so the queen took a more circuitous path through discreet hallways until she reached a small side door by the servants’ quarters, exiting onto the kitchen gardens. By that time in the afternoon they were quiet, and she was able to slip relatively unnoticed around them, finding a well-trodden dirt path towards the meeting place.

A tall hedge and locked iron gate separated her from it, and she groaned a little at realizing that she had forgotten her keyring in her bedroom. She jiggled the lock on the door as she peered through the bars on it, and her surprise at seeing no one in the gardens within caused ice to spark from her fingertips, breaking the lock in twain.

The queen jumped back, startled by the sound of the iron as it clattered to the ground below, and then pressed her offending hand to her chest with a red face, exhaling deeply.

“There’s another unlocked gate further down the hedge, you know,” the familiar voice of the prince said from the other side of the hedge, and her head shot up at the intrusion. “No need to inflict more property damage.”

She sighed through her nose. “I didn’t mean to, I just—never mind,” she said, frowning. “Which way is it?”

“To your left,” he replied. “Just follow my voice.”

She continued along the hedge and onto softer grass shadowed by tall trees, keeping her hands close by her sides. Her face was still red. “I don’t know this path,” she said.

“I’m surprised to hear that,” he remarked. “I would’ve thought, being confined for so long, that you’d know every inch of this place by now.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “I was confined indoors, mostly. I’m not as familiar with the gardens, because…”

She paused when she came to the very edge of the natural wall, and she turned to face the hedge, her eyes widening as they met his. The only thing between them was a short wooden gate secured with a latch, which the prince lifted easily.

As she stepped through it and looked up, a soft gasp left her lips.

Tall arches wreathed with red roses in full bloom surrounded a dirt path just a few feet from the gate, and from the state of the vines and leaves encircling the arches, she could tell that they had not been properly pruned for some time. The shine and heat from the afternoon sun was lessened in the wildness of that space, its disuse casting an odd, green light upon the ground where sunlight filtered through the leaves.

“Your parents didn’t allow you here?” the prince resumed their conversation, standing behind her.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, then approached the side of an arch, reaching out to graze the edge of a rose before withdrawing it. “It wasn’t like that. They wanted me to come out more, actually. But… I was afraid to. I didn’t want to spoil things.”

“Spoil? You mean—”

“Well, freeze them, yes,” the queen clarified, irritated. “My mother was very fond of these gardens, though I can’t remember ever coming to this part of them.” Her gaze tightened at the rose she could not bring herself to touch. “I guess the staff haven’t kept it up since she died.”

He was quiet for a while before coming to stand at her side, regarding the same flower. “You haven’t spoken much about them.” At her warning look, he continued: “I know that their passing was unexpected and tragic. But I imagine, before then, that you must have been quite close to them.”

“I was, and I wasn’t,” she said, her lips pressing into a thin line. “They did their best to keep me safe, and love me in their own way, despite the circumstances. But I pushed them away.”

His brow lifted. “‘Loved you in their own way’?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I wasn’t an easy child to care for; I gave them many hardships. It’s a wonder that I haven’t hurt more people, and I have them to thank for that.”

He was silent at her reply, and then his hand reached out to the rose, his fingers drifting over its petals.

“You know, Elsa,” he began, “roses are actually rather difficult to grow. The conditions have to be just right, with plenty of sunshine, well-drained soil, and in areas free from pests, since they’re so susceptible to disease. Without regular attention, it’s unlikely they’d survive.” He eyed her pointedly as he added: “So it’s a wonder that these are still here, and blooming as beautifully as they are.”

The queen did not miss the look, her eyes darkening. “I’m not a rose, Hans. I don’t require sunlight, or pruning, or ‘regular attention’ to endure.” She stood taller, her chin raised, and directed a withering stare at him. “You’re prying by means of flattery, but I already told you that won’t work.”

His hands came up, yielding to her. “You’re right,” he conceded, “it was a bad comparison. Forgive me.”

She crossed her arms. “What were you trying to say, before?” she said. “It’s not like you to drop a line of questioning, once you’ve started.”

He smiled a little at the observation. “Yes, that’s true,” he agreed. The smile faded as his brows knitted together. “It’s just… you speak so poorly about yourself and your powers. Calling yourself a ‘hardship’ to your parents, saying that you pushed them away—all because of one incident from your childhood, which your sister obviously recovered from.”

“It wasn’t just that one incident,” she countered, her hands curling around her biceps. “That was the worst of them, yes, but there were many others after that which created cause for concern. You’ve seen it yourself—what happens when I get worked up, when I feel out of control.”

She pressed a hand to her forehead, cooling the skin there. “This curse is my burden to bear, alone.”

“Curse?” the prince asked. “Is that how you see it?”

She glowered at him. “What else could it be?”

He was quiet for a time, studying her irate features, and then stepped into the shadow of an archway. The green light flickered against his skin, dappled by the roses’ red. “I used to wish that I had your powers, when I was a boy,” he said, staring up at the sunbeams obscured by vines. “When my brothers would torment me, each act of cruelty more petty and vicious than the last, I fantasized about suffocating them with snowdrifts, or turning them into one of your spectacular ice statues—anything that would make them stop.”

His eyes closed tightly, lines of pain visible at the edges. “Even realizing that doing so would make me the same as them, I couldn’t help but imagine it, and it brought me some comfort during the hardest years of my childhood.”

When the prince opened his eyes again, there was a dark honesty in them that the queen had never noticed before. “I know what it’s like to feel cursed, Elsa—to feel like a burden. To feel as if I should never have been born. But I couldn’t have lived this long if I kept feeling that way about myself. And I don’t think you could’ve, either.”

Her face reddened, and her hands throbbed as they fell to her sides.

 _“Conceal,”_ she told herself, swallowing. “ _Don’t feel.”_

“What was that?”

She blinked and stared at him, her lips parting but unable to form a reply.

_“Don’t let it show.”_

“Elsa?”

Snow fell lightly at first, and then all around them as if in a waking dream, and she gripped the sides of her dress tight enough to cause tears in the fabric.

 _Conceal,_ she heard the mantra again, _don’t feel._

“What are you saying?”

 _Don’t let it show,_ she finished, silently mouthing the words.

Through the snow, the prince’s hand reached out to the side of the arch, forcing itself into the barbed stems.

_Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let it show._

He plucked a single rose from the bush.

_“Elsa.”_

His voice was, at first, intermingled with her father’s, and she found it hard to focus on him through the snowdrifts, her vision obscured.

“Come back, Elsa.”

The second time she heard her name it was clearer, and as she squinted, the drifts began to dissipate.

**“I’m here.”**

All at once, the snow was suspended in the air, and she could clearly hear – and see – the prince in front of her, holding a single red rose. At his side, his right hand hung loosely, blood trickling from the fingers down into the earth.

She gasped at the sight, instinctively seizing the injured hand and tearing one of her gloves off, wrapping it around his pricked fingers and palm, pressing there. The snow that was suspended, as well as the drifts that covered the earth, disappeared. His skin was hot to touch.

“What were you thinking?” she exclaimed, her face still pale from shock. “You know they have thorns.”

He stood in stunned silence watching her tend to him, her thumbs pressing upon the uncovered skin of his wrist.

“Elsa, you…” he managed before growing quiet again, allowing her to focus.

She glanced up at his red face. “What? Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

He gaped at her, fish-like, before closing his mouth, suppressing a larger smile.

“No,” he replied softly. “I suppose I was trying to prove something, but… clearly, I just ended up making a fool out of myself.”

Some color returned to her face, and her grip on him relaxed a little. “Yes, you did,” she agreed, not looking at him.

He nodded, looking down at his hand still in hers. “I see that now,” he said, and her blush deepened. “But what about your glove?”

The queen realized what she had done, and almost recoiled from him in surprise. “I—I’ll just have it washed when I get back. I’ll tell Gerda I tripped.”

“Thank you, Elsa,” the prince said, bowing his head. “I really am grateful.”

She nodded in return, a hot tremor coursing through her hand as it finally let go of his. She caught sight of the rose still in his right hand, and pursed her lips. “You’d better let go of that, before you hurt your other hand.”

He followed her look and examined the flower in question before carefully inserting it into the chest pocket of his jacket. “There, that’s better.”

Her brow rose. “Really?”

He shrugged. “It’s a waste to throw away such a beautiful thing, even if it can hurt me.”

She blushed at the long look from the prince that accompanied his remark, and crossed her arms.

“You’re incredibly unsubtle,” she told him, frowning. “It’s very irritating.”

“Then I shall strive to be cleverer with my innuendos,” he said, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. “Wouldn’t want you to get sick of me—not just yet, anyway.” His humorous expression dissolved as he regarded her for a minute, and then his gaze returned to the glove covering his left hand, the light between the arches casting striped patterns across the stained fabric.

“It seems as though the bleeding has stopped,” he said, and unfurled it from his fingers. “Are you sure you want it back? I’m happy to clean it for you, and return it in a more presentable condition.”

She snatched the glove from his hand. “No, thank you,” she snapped, and then added more gently: “It’s just something I need to take care of on my own.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot,” the prince observed. “Needing to handle things, alone.” He continued before she could interrupt him. “And I understand that, since I’ve often thought that I had to do the same. But…”

The queen swallowed. “But?”

He smiled. “Perhaps we can rely on each other.” He glanced down at his thorn-pricked hand, and then up at her again. “It certainly paid off for me, today.”

She clutched the bloodied glove. “You’re asking a lot of me.”

He nodded. “I know. But I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t believe you were capable of it.”

Her blush faded as she stared at the rose in his pocket. “I just… don’t understand why you do.”

He cradled his injured hand thoughtfully. “Because you don’t see what I see in you.”

“No, I don’t,” she admitted, and pressed the stained glove against her stomach, her grip relaxing. Her eyes met his in the next moment, and a deep, unbidden desire was spoken.

“But I want to.”

* * *

She returned to her bedroom a little while later by the same winding route she had taken to go outdoors, her sullied glove balled up in her bare left hand and pressed to her side, out of sight. She exhaled with relief once inside her door, quickly changing out of her torn dress and laying the glove on a side table.

“Your Majesty?”

She held back a sigh at the sound of her trusted steward’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Yes, Kai?”

“May we speak for a minute? I know you still have a many meetings ahead of you today, so I won’t be long.”

She grabbed the dirtied glove from the table and hid it behind her back as she opened the door, waving him in. “Come in,” she said, and nodded at the guards outside to close the doors behind him.

Her brow furrowed a little upon observing his tense expression and bearing, unused to seeing him so concerned. “Is everything all right?”

His lip twitched. “Well, Your Majesty, I heard a slightly… worrying report just now, from one of the kitchen staff.”

The queen’s eyes snapped open. “Oh?” she asked, trying to appear nonplussed. “What did they say?”

The steward’s gaze grew more pointed. “That they saw you going out the back door to the rose garden. They said it looked as if you were meeting someone down the hidden lane to the wood gate—the one your mother and father used to use, when they walked there together.”

At her twitching features, he continued: “The maid who looks after the guestrooms also mentioned that she saw Prince Hans go out not long before then into the same garden, before she lost sight of him.” He paused. “I was surprised to hear this, since I thought you were going on a walk with Princess Anna this afternoon.”

She frowned. “Are you having me followed?”

The steward was mortified by the accusation. “No, of course not, Your Majesty; I wouldn’t dare. I assure you that these reports came in to me independently, completely of the staff’s volition. I gave no orders to them.”

Her stare was still suspicious. “Fine. But what is your purpose in coming to me with these reports? What business is it of theirs, or yours, where or with whom I choose to take an afternoon walk?”

The older man rose to meet her eyes again, and swallowed. “Well, Your Majesty, as you know, your father charged me with looking after your personal well-being before he passed, and so I feel that I must speak up when I observe something that may… endanger your health and happiness.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Endanger my health and happiness.”

“Yes,” he affirmed, his posture more assured. “In this case, endangered by getting too close to a certain southern prince.” At her annoyed look, he continued: “You remember the many months we spent discussing the fires in the Isles, and their curious origins—the research you sent me to do, and that you did in turn about the prince’s family, as well as him? And now suddenly he is here as a valued guest, at the princess’s side during many social events, at family meals, and with you on private walks of the rose garden.”

His lips curled. “You know, Your Majesty, that innocent or not, he is a man of ill repute in his own lands, and is seen as suspect here in your own court, as well. There are already some rumors around him and the princess, and should word reach our guests of your meeting with him today…”

He paused at seeing his queen’s face grow more and more twisted with anger, but went on to conclude: “I can see how his appearance and manners would be charming to you both, and can understand the temptation to overlook his dubious character. But, respectfully, I do not think it wise for you and the princess to associate yourselves further with this young man, Your Majesty.”

The room crackled with an invisible energy, the queen’s power barely contained as she remained silent, her fingernails digging into her palms.

_Don’t feel._

She almost spat at the words as they filled the empty air, her seething breaths cold as she swallowed them down.

_Don’t let it show._

Her gaze lifted to meet his. “Before my father left on his last journey, he told me to be strong—for myself, as well as for Anna. I told him I would try in order to please him, assuming that he and my mother would be back in a few weeks.” Her expression grew dark. “I thought I could go on as I was, keeping to myself, believing Anna was better off on her own.”

She stopped for a beat, feeling her fingernails draw blood from her palms. “But I was wrong, Kai; they never came back, and Anna was left without parents, and without a sister.” Her eyes were as hard as coals. “But now I am queen, and I must protect her. And I can tell the difference between good and ill intent well enough myself.”

He swallowed again. “Your Majesty, I’m not questioning your judgment. I know you’re—”

“Good,” she interrupted, smiling thinly. “Thank you, Kai. I appreciate your concern. You can go, now.”

He was taken aback by the abrupt cut off, and even shorter dismissal; nonetheless, he bowed, and made his way towards the door. “I’ll see you this evening, Your Majesty,” he said, and left.

Alone, the queen’s hands finally relaxed, and she exhaled through her mouth, sliding down the side of her bedpost to the carpet. Closing her eyes, she lifted her left glove until it was propped up atop bent knees, her heart still racing.

When she opened them again, she saw that the blood from her palms had become intermingled with the prince’s on the fabric.


	7. VII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see recovery from any kind of trauma as one step forward, two steps back - and I envision Elsa's recovery in the same sense. I'm not making her regress or retreat purely for plot reasons, or to throw up false obstacles for drama. It's very much, in my mind, a natural, human reaction to resist change, especially when it comes all of a sudden.
> 
> I have many, many other thoughts and ramblings I would love to share with you all about the writing process for this fic, but I'm saving it for the end. I want you all to form your own impressions and ideas of what's happening before I tell you mine.

**VII.**

The queen was swept up in a procession of meetings with various delegations for the rest of the evening into the following morning, with hardly a second to breathe between bows and curtsies to people she hoped she would never see again.

As her steward announced each successive appointment to her, she avoided making eye contact with him, keeping her expression cool and indecipherable.

By the time she was able to slot in a brief return to her room to regroup, he informed her that she was expected in the courtyard for an afternoon of lawn games with her guests. She met the news with a deep and unbroken sigh, half-tempted to call off the rest of the week's events and remain secluded in her room, undisturbed. But in the warmth of the sunbeams as they washed over her bedsheets, recalling her conversation with the prince from the day before, the queen yielded to her obligations.

She was welcomed with polite bows and smiles when she arrived outside, and she returned the gestures with her usual vague pleasantries, observing her surroundings. Large spaces had been demarcated in the grass for games of bocce and _kubb_ , with some others she did not recognize introduced by the foreign visitors.

"Your Majesty," a man in fine dress bowed before her, gesturing to one such game, "would you do us the honor of playing a round of croquet?"

She followed the direction of his arm to where several noblemen and women were bent over with wooden mallets, trying to strike colorful balls through arched posts, and suppressed an eyeroll.

"Perhaps later," she answered with a forced smile.

Others soon followed his example – from the Netherlands, Germany, Portugal, Spain, and Weselton (the last of which she had never even heard of until that week, when its Duke had proposed a trade agreement so outrageously unfavorable to her country that the man had almost been laughed out of a meeting with her council) – but she rebuffed each in turn, her eyes seeking out the prince.

She found him standing alone, a few feet from where the princess played horseshoes with the French ambassador and his wife, the game surrounded by a circle of onlookers. They applauded and cheered as she hooked one shoe after the other onto the stake.

"It's all in the hand-eye coordination," the younger woman remarked as they released a collective "ooh" at her success in the latest match, and she curtsied to her opponents with a grin.

Seeing her older sister approaching them, she waved at her. "Elsa! Will you play a round?"

The queen's smile wavered for a moment. "I'll sit this one out, Anna," she said, "since it looks like many of our guests would like a go at playing against you."

The crowd laughed at her comment, but the princess frowned. The queen drew closer to her, murmuring: "I have to speak with Hans. I hope you don't mind."

The princess's frown converted into a wide, bright smile. "Of course not," she whispered, though her pitch was higher from excitement. She winked. "Go get 'im, sis."

The queen refrained from rolling her eyes as she stepped away from the participants, raising her voice so that everyone could hear her again. "I'll be rooting for you, and praying that the rest of you don't get defeated too badly."

The ambassador and his wife chuckled along with the other competitors, watching as the queen left the game area. The princess coughed to refocus their attention, and announced with a grin:

"All right, so who's the next victim?"

This challenge drew their interest away from the queen, who slipped out to the back until she was standing next to the prince. Their proximity did not go entirely unnoticed, as she noted a haughty scoff from the neglected Duke of Weselton in her direction, but her thoughts did not linger on it.

The prince smirked. "What did you say to Anna?"

"Nothing that should concern you," she replied, though without any particular rancor. She kept her eyes focused on the game, but could not make out much between the huddled bodies of the spectators. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to know that I should never quarrel with your sister," he quipped as the princess scored another perfect ringer. "She has the aim of a hungry hawk."

"The squawk of one as well," the queen observed as her sister shrieked with glee at her victory.

The prince stifled a laugh. "You surprise me, Elsa," he said, smiling at her sharp glance. "Not because you're capable of making a joke, obviously. Rather…" He paused, looking down at her, and then back at the game. "You're standing quite close to me, right now."

She reddened. "And? What of it?"

"I just thought… never mind. It doesn't matter." He glanced at her hands. "Are those gloves new? I don't remember you wearing them before."

Her blush spread until it touched every corner of her face, her hands knitting together in front of her. "I was busy, and forgot to have mine washed." She looked down at them, her nose wrinkling at the pure white fabric. "These were my mother's."

His brow softened at the comment. "I used to have a pair like that. They're well-crafted."

"Right. Back when you used to wear gloves," she remarked.

A strange smile flitted across his lips. "Yes, back when I used to do that."

She shot him a cautious, but curious, look. "You've never told me why you stopped wearing them."

He shrugged. "I only wore them before because my father told me I had to. But once he died, I didn't see the point in it anymore." He simpered at her. "It seems to bother you that my hands are bare."

Her nose scrunched. "I'm just not used to it, that's all. And besides—you used to be very attached to yours. I wouldn't have guessed that you were wearing them just because someone told you to."

His smile slipped. "I learned the hard way what would happen if I didn't behave, from an early age."

She stared at him for a while, her hands glued together with discomfort at the plain and cold answer. "I see," she said, and fell back into silence, sensing the sensitivity of the subject.

_Don't feel._

Her stomach constricted at the thought, and she suddenly turned to him.

"Walk me out of here."

The prince blinked, but bowed his head in acquiescence. "Where to, my Queen?"

She frowned at the intimate form of address. "There's an archway leading out of here onto another, smaller courtyard in the northeast corner," she replied, nodding in that direction.

His eyes widened. "Are you sure? The path there goes right through the center of the games, and everyone will—"

"Yes," she interrupted. "I won't ask again, Hans. Now offer me your arm."

After a moment of hesitation, he did as commanded, and she looped her hand through until it rested atop his forearm. He led her away from the games area with calm, confident strides, the crowds of spectators parting for them in waves as they passed.

The queen ignored each new look of astonishment and gasp—including the grave expression of concern from her steward. She held her chin high and kept her expression indifferent as they finally reached the archway, though she could not keep her hand from gripping his arm until her fingertips turned white.

Once they had passed through it and were protected by the surrounding stone walls, she exhaled through her nose, her features relaxing. The inner courtyard was quieter and grayer than the main quad, the only hint of color coming from the trees planted on either side of stone benches and the blue, cloudless skies above them.

"Elsa," the prince said and glanced at her hand, still clutching his arm.

She removed it with flushed cheeks, turning her back to him as she made her way towards one of the benches.

He joined her after a moment, looking at the entryway to check for prying eyes. Finding none, he turned his gaze to her, somewhat uneasy.

"What's wrong?"

She sighed, closing her eyes, and then leaned back until it rested gently against the stone wall behind her. "I'm tired of being told what I can and can't do. I didn't want to think about it, for once."

"Did something happen?"

Her eyes reopened to shoot a glare at him. "You ask as if you don't know."

He leaned back, copying her. "Are you saying this is my doing?"

"No—and yes," she replied, crossing her arms. Her forehead wrinkled at seeing the white gloves upon her biceps. "I suppose your impertinence inspired something in me."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said, earning another glare from her, and his eyes darkened. "I'm happy to be of some use to you."

Her blush deepened. "It's an inconvenience," she snapped. "I can't be like this. Not in my position."

"Why not?"

"Because I am queen, now, and I can't just do whatever I want, whenever I want, like Anna. I can't storm out of official dinners, or refuse meetings with ambassadors, or—"

"Walk away from games held in your honor, and be seen alone with dishonorable gentlemen?"

She grew quiet at his interjection, and his look became more serious. "I'm aware how much my public reputation plays on your mind, and theirs, so it's impossible for me to put into words how much I have appreciated your hospitality in allowing me to stay for so long." He held out a hand to her. "So thank you."

She stared at it for a time before she finally relaxed her hand, placing it in his palm. His thumb pressed the top of her hand, slightly pulling down the fabric of the glove upon it.

He continued to pull on it after she offered no initial resistance, until the covering had come off completely, and her bare skin was once again touching his. He raised her hand closer to his face, as if to kiss the top of it; but when she noticed the scars from the rose thorns still embedded along his fingers, she jerked her hand from his, and looked away.

"None of this is for you."

"I know," he acknowledged. "I wouldn't think that for a second."

"Then don't look so pleased," she said, her look skeptical, and relaxed back against the wall again. She eyed his hand after a beat. "Does it hurt?"

He held it up, inspecting the red lines along his skin. "Not really. I've had worse."

"From roses?" she mused.

He wore a hollow smile at the question. "No. Not from roses, Elsa."

An awkward silence settled on the pair for a time, the noises from the games echoing faintly from beyond the tall border wall that separated them from the main lawn.

At length, the prince spoke. "You said something strange yesterday, in the garden."

She frowned. "What?"

"It was before I pricked my hand. You kept saying over and over again, 'conceal, don't feel,'" he recounted in a careful way, "and it was hard to hear you properly after that, but I think it ended with—"

"Don't let it show," she murmured, and he blinked in surprise.

"Yes, that was it." His brow furrowed. "What is that?"

The queen was quiet for a minute, her hands – one gloved, the other bare – gripping the fabric of her dress. Her fingers twitched along a seam.

"It was something my father taught me to say whenever I felt like I was losing control," she said, pushing out each word with effort. "We used to recite it together, when I was a child. It still brings me some comfort to say it."

"It brings you… _comfort?"_

The incredulity in the prince's voice forced her gaze to meet his, a glower working its way into her features.

"Why do you sound so confused?"

"Because it's—it's…" He scoffed, shaking his head. "What in the world was he thinking, saying that to a child? Telling you 'don't feel, don't let it show'?" He repeated the mantra with bewilderment. "To think of the hurt he inflicted on his own daughter in doing so—"

" _Hurt?_ You don't know what you're talking about, Hans," she snapped. "My father loved me, and tried to help me—"

"'In his own way'—wasn't that how you put it before?" he interrupted, earning a scowl from her. "And what kind of help was that, Elsa? Covering your hands, keeping you locked away, and giving you empty words to say over and over again until you'd grown to fear and despise your own power? Until you'd shut out everyone, including Anna?"

"You talk as if my father were a uniquely cruel and horrible man, but what of your own?" Her scowl twisted on her lips. "To abandon his youngest son to the malice of his older brothers for so many years, their brutality unchecked and unpunished? What kind of 'love' is that?"

"None at all," he agreed, taking her aback. "But that's the difference between us, Elsa: I don't pretend otherwise. I don't know what my life would've been like had he chosen to be a better, kinder man, because he didn't make that choice. I've had to live with the consequences of that, for better or worse. And so have you, with your parents' choices."

She was silent after that, and her hands and shoulders visibly trembled when she next spoke.

"They loved me," she whispered. "I know it."

"Maybe they did," he said in a gentler way, "but love… isn't always good."

Her voice was hoarse when she addressed him, her eyes tinged red. She wiped any trace of tears from her face.

"What are you saying, Hans?"

He paused to take in the tree branches that hung above them, their leaves long and narrow. "These are apple trees, aren't they?" he asked, not looking to her for confirmation. He plucked a fruit from the branch, holding it up at eye level for closer examination. "Fine things, apples, when they're ripe like this. Beautiful, even—your mouth waters just looking at it, thinking about how sweet or tart it might be. But then…"

He turned the fruit in his hand, revealing a small hole in the opposite side. "You see something like this, and even though you want to take a bite out of it, you think, 'well, I'd better just check.' So you take out a knife and cut it open," he said, and dug both of his thumbs into the side where the hole was. "And what do you find?"

She watched as if possessed, and her eyes widened when the apple came apart easily under his ministrations. "Nothing but a rotten, brown core," he continued, a sigh escaping his lips as he gazed into the fruit's ruined interior. "The handiwork of a hungry worm, no doubt."

The queen pulled herself out of her trance, shaking her head, and glared at him.

"And so what? 'Love is like an apple'? I've had enough of your insipid analogies," she said, rising from her seat. She reached to grab her other glove from his side of the bench, but as she did, he placed his hand on hers, holding her there.

Their noses were nearly touching, and his breath was hot against her cheek. "I know that the memories of your parents are precious to you," he murmured, his grasp soft, "and I don't mean to deny you them. I only ask you to question what happened—to ask yourself what good it did you to be kept inside all these years, separated from your sister. And all because of what? You hurt her once, when you didn't know any better," he said, "and they made you pay for it, for every moment after. But you shouldn't have to anymore."

The juice from the putrid core of the apple oozed out from his fingers onto the back of her hand, and she grimaced, the sensation causing her skin to go cold.

When the prince released her, her lip quivered, and she pressed the other glove to her chest. "It's not that simple. They were trying to protect me, and Anna."

"And themselves," the prince countered, and retrieved a handkerchief from his coat pocket to wipe his hands. "But that's acting out of fear, not love. You know that." He laid the used cloth across his lap, and then leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, looking up at her.

Her breath was visible against the air, her mouth contorting as she tried to respond. "I—"

The sound of footsteps caused both of their heads to swivel towards the entryway, and the queen's eyes shined with alarm. "Anna," she whispered, and ran to the entrance, bracing herself against the stone wall as she peered around it.

She caught sight of the hem of the princess's dress as it stole away back to the main lawn, her breath stopping in her chest as she whipped back around, pressing herself against the wall. Her body began to quake, wisps and curls of ice spidering out along the walls and the ground below from her fingers and feet.

" _Conceal, don't feel, don't let it show,"_ she said, shutting her eyes, _"conceal, don't feel, don't let it—"_

"Elsa, **stop**."

The ice shattered into pieces as her eyes reopened, finding the prince mere inches from her, her hands clasped in his. She gasped at how hot they felt, and at how tightly he held onto her despite the cold.

Her breath came in short bursts as she tried to gather her wits. "Hans, she saw us, and who knows what she heard." Her eyes darted back to the entrance, widening with anxiety. "Perhaps there were others, too, that we didn't notice."

"There weren't—I would've seen them," he said, and pressed her hands to reassure her. "Anna didn't hear anything. She was probably just dropping by to see if her 'scheme' was working—nothing more."

"How can you be sure?" Her breathing was still disjointed, and tears welled in her eyes. "If she found out about my powers, or about her stolen memories, just when we're starting to get along, I… I couldn't bear it." She released a half-formed sob, and pushed him away. "I can't lose her again."

"Elsa…" the prince began, but she shook her head.

"I need to go," she said, and left, ignoring the long look from the prince behind her.

* * *

She returned to her quarters that afternoon with no explanation or parting gesture to her guests, who watched her brisk retreat from the games back into the castle in huddles of hushed voices.

Their whispers and stares seemed to follow her even as she laid upon her bed, curled into a ball, and she swallowed the tears that threatened to spill. Nonetheless, though she had long since deposited her mother's gloves atop her dresser, her magic remained contained by the memory of the prince's hands on hers—which she presently sunk into her mattress, hiding from view.

Just as her heartbeat had begun to slow down again, her cheek nestled comfortably against her pillow, a knock on her door roused her from her waking sleep.

"What is it?"

"It's me," her sister's voice answered, soft but insistent. "Can we talk?"

The queen sat up in alarm, staring at the door. "I—I'm very tired, Anna," she stammered. "Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

She heard a sigh on the other side of the door. "I'm worried about you. You looked so upset when you left."

Her expression relaxed at the reply, though there was still some caution in her gait as she rose from her bed and approached the door, placing a hand against it.

"You're right," she admitted. "I was upset."

"…was it because of Hans?"

She opened the door just far enough to come face to face with her sister, taking the younger woman by surprise. "I think you know the answer to that," she drawled, "since you were watching us."

The princess cowered with embarrassment. "I really didn't see much, I swear. You two were gone for a while, so I was wondering what happened, is all."

The queen's look was suspicious, but a little more patient than before. "Right. Well, I—yes, he upset me," she conceded, and paused. "I don't feel like myself when I'm with him."

"What do you mean?"

Her brow crinkled. "He annoys me, and makes me say and do and think about things that I wouldn't, normally."

"Is that such a bad thing?" the princess asked with a half-grin.

The queen's frown returned. "Yes. I know you may feel otherwise, but I don't think his influence is a good thing. Not for me, anyway—and probably not for you, either."

"What are you talking about?" The princess retorted, and planted her hands firmly on her hips. "I don't know what he did or said to you tonight, but I've spent enough time with Hans to know that he really cares for us, Elsa—especially you." Her brow rose. "But someone probably gave you 'the talk' about him, right?"

At the queen's silence, she continued: "In my case it was Gerda, so I guess you got Kai. He probably told you the same things she told me: 'he's suspicious, he's after the crown, _blah blah blah_.' Even Ambassador Dubois lectured me about it, but it was in French, so I missed almost everything except ' _ce n'est pas un homme bon_ ,' which means—"

"I know what it means, Anna. I used to take French, too."

"Yes, I know," the princess said, waving away the interruption. "Anyway, as I was saying: I've heard the same stuff from just about everyone, and I've seen the way they look at me and him together, and how they looked at you two today. As if we haven't asked him about the fires and the rumors—it was practically the first question out of my mouth on the night of your coronation!"

The queen stepped back, blinking. "You… asked him about that?"

"Of course!" the princess exclaimed, though she still managed to keep her voice at a hushed volume. "You think I'd let him get within an _inch_ of you if I thought he was some kind of criminal on the run? I made sure to vet him, the same way you'd do for me."

Her eyes narrowed. "But Kai, Gerda, and those fancy nobles we've been hosting at court the past couple weeks? They don't know him like we do, and they haven't even _tried_ to get to know him, so they still assume the worst. But I can promise you that he's a good apple, Elsa." The princess's gaze grew more hopeful. "You can see that too, can't you? Even if it's just a little bit?"

Her older sister made no reply for a while, disconcerted by the analogy, and then answered.

"Sometimes, yes. But…"

"But what?"

She closed her eyes. "I don't feel as though I know him very well at all. Not compared to the way you say you do."

The princess crossed her arms. "Then what's missing for you?"

The queen looked down at her uncovered hands, her fingers still thrumming from his warmth—and still slightly sticky from the decaying apple's residue that he had dripped onto them.

Her eyes tightened. "I don't know, exactly. It's just a feeling."

"Well, he's almost at the end of his two weeks here," her sister remarked, "so if you don't figure that 'feeling' out soon, there's a chance you never will."

The queen's pulse quickened at the reminder. "Has it been that long already?"

"Yes," the princess replied, and added with a slight smile: "Are you considering letting him stay for longer?"

Her sister blushed, and raised her chin. "No, I'm not."

The princess's grin twitched. "If you say so. But I know a certain prince who'd be very happy if you were."

"Anna," the queen warned, and the younger woman made a gesture of surrender.

"I'm just saying—it might be nice."

"For him, maybe. But I can't be responsible for the well-being and happiness of a stranger. Neither of us can."

The princess smiled sadly as she regarded the queen, reaching up a hand to touch her shoulder—and then retracting it before it could land, holding it against her heart.

"I'm not asking you to be 'responsible' for him or his feelings," she said, her head bowed. "I'm just asking you to consider what it would be like if you listened to your own, for once."

The queen stared at her sister for a long time, unable to form a reply, and swallowed.

"I think that it's time for you to go, Anna."

Her sister frowned. "That's it? You're just sending me away, like I'm a child?"

"No," the queen replied, growing taller. "I'm asking you to leave."

The princess's spine twisted up to match her sister's posture, and she shot her an unhappy look. "Fine. Then I'm leaving. Goodbye, Elsa."

The queen said nothing in return, watching as her sister turned tail and stomped back through the hall to her own bedroom.

She sighed as she closed her door again, plodding over to her wardrobe and pulling out another dress. She laid it neatly on the bed before undoing the bodice of the one she had been wearing until then.

As it dropped to the floor, however, she began to notice a strange mixture of smells waft up to her nose – iron, rot, and sweat – and her gaze was drawn to the gloves she had used that day and the other pair from the day before, still unwashed, laying atop one another on her dresser.

The stench caused her to gag as she gripped the side of the wardrobe, trying to collect herself. Covering her mouth with one hand, she carefully picked up the offending objects between her index finger and thumb of the other, and dropped them into the washbasin on the opposite side of the room.

The gloves floated on the surface, and on instinct she submerged her own hands into the water with them. She rubbed her palms together vigorously, scrubbing off the remnants of the apple, hearing the prince's voice in her head with every twist of her fingers.

_You hurt her once, when you didn't know any better—and they made you pay for it._

Her jaw clenched at the memory, scrubbing harder, and she did not notice the water growing colder.

_For every moment after._

By the time she was ready to withdraw her hands, she found them stuck in place; frowning, she looked down into the bowl, and gulped.

The water was frozen.


	8. VIII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend for this chapter to end up as long as it is, hence the delay in publishing as it required more editing. Further updates are also likely on a biweekly basis as I balance a tight work schedule with this (my true passion). Thanks all for your support and readership.

**VIII.**

The queen did not sleep well the evening after her conversations with the prince and her sister.

Once her public – and private – meetings with the prince had become common knowledge, even solitude was unbearable for her, and she instructed her steward to pack her schedule to the brim. At first, she managed to keep clear of both the prince and princess for a day or two, and push the inconvenient thoughts and feelings to the back of her mind.

But where purposeful avoidance had been her _modus operandi_ for so many years, she now found it ill-suited to drown out the chorus of whispers, murmurs, and rumors which increasingly pursued her through every nook and cranny of the castle. By the end of the week, she had missed two or three meetings, and instead spent them pacing in her room until snow whipped around her in a blinding flurry.

Her attendance at social events likewise dropped off, as she found that she could not help but stare with undisguised longing at the prince and princess from the other end of dinner tables and large rooms. She was too fearful to approach them publicly, but also too ashamed of her own avoidance to speak with them.

Whenever the urge struck her to try, she was stopped in her tracks by her father's mantra.

_Don't let it show._

It was not until she received a discreet note under her door one evening that the queen paused to reconsider her current course of action – or inaction, as it were – as the sudden appearance of the small, folded paper stirred her from her endless brooding.

She plucked it from the floor, opening it with bated breath.

_I hope you're okay. I miss you._

She recognized her sister's flowery script immediately, and pressed the page flat atop her dresser, rereading those two short sentences until the words in them became distorted.

Her face red, she sat down with a _thud_ upon her chair, and belatedly noticed that the snow she had involuntarily conjured was suspended in the air.

She blinked in wonder at the sight, having only seen it happen a few times before; and after glancing at the note again, the snow and ice which had previously stuck to every surface of her room began to disappear.

Her mouth went agape for a moment, and then for an entire minute.

_What's missing for you?_

It closed again, and she exhaled.

_I miss you._

* * *

Galvanized with a strange sense of purpose, the queen was too excited to sleep, and greeted the morning sun with restless eyes just as it rose over the horizon.

She slipped on her signature blue gloves – defrosted and cleaned – and pressed her crown atop her plaited hair as the final touch before stepping out, walking at a measured pace to the other end of the hallway. Once there, she dismissed the guards nearby and knocked lightly on the door, swallowing the lump of uncertainty that was stuck in her throat.

No answer to her knock came for a few seconds, which then turned into minutes.

Holding her head high, she knocked again, rapping her fingers harder against the wooden door. When she was met with more silence, she sighed, her head lowering in resignation.

In the same moment, the door creaked open, and the groggy, disheveled features of the princess appeared from behind it, the younger woman's eyes squinting through the sleep that blurred them.

"Who is i—Elsa?" she said, yawning halfway through her question. She blinked slowly. "What are you doing here?"

The queen reddened, looking down. "I'm sorry, I know it's early. I should've come later, but I…" She paused, her lips twisting. "I got your note, and I wanted to speak with you, and—"

"It's fine," the princess cut her off. "Just come inside. It's awkward talking out here." She gestured for her older sister to enter the bedroom with a tired wave, and the queen complied after a moment of hesitation.

She regarded the room with wide eyes, having not seen its interior in many, many years. It was only a little smaller than her own and had much of the same furniture, with one noticeable difference.

"It's all very pink, I know," the princess drawled, rubbing her eyes as she leaned against a bedpost, crossing her arms. "I bet you're surprised it's not messier than it is."

The queen's nose wrinkled as she tried not to smile. "I suppose Gerda makes sure that the maids keep it tidy."

The princess smirked. "That's right. You know it would be a nightmare if I had to clean it myself—just look at the state of my hair!" She poked at the mess of red curls atop her head with a sigh, her white streak still visible at the front.

The sight of it caused the queen's smile to fade, and at the sudden change in mood, her younger sister's brow rose. "Anyway, what was it," she began before yawning again, half-covering her mouth, "that you wanted to talk to me about?" She glanced at her bed, and at the dresser opposite. "Do you want to sit down?"

The queen drew her arms closer to her. "Oh, that's all right. I don't mind standing."

The princess shrugged. "Suit yourself. As for me, I'm just gonna lay back down here for a minute." She flopped back onto her bed, propping herself up on her elbows, and threw her older sister a questioning look.

"You're really not going to sit?"

Her older sister's arms dropped to her sides and she relented, coming over to sit delicately on the chair by the bed. The princess nodded and ran her hands through her hair, trying to smooth it down.

"Good. Now, where were we?"

The queen's brows stitched together in thought, her fingers interlacing to match. She glanced up at the princess, and then down again.

"I… came here to apologize. For how I left things the other night," she explained, "and for not talking to you since. I'm sorry."

The princess blinked. "Oh," she said softly, her hands dropping to her sides. "I wasn't expecting you to say that." At her sister's remorseful expression, she clarified: "I mean, I'm _happy_ that you're saying it, of course, it's just—it's not like I was upset at you over what happened."

The queen matched her younger sister's wide-eyed look. "You weren't?"

"I mean, I was a _little_ annoyed, sure," the princess admitted, "but it's not like this is the first time you've ever ignored me, either. Sorry to say, but… I'm kinda used to it." Swallowing at the small, guilty frown her sister wore, she continued: "It's like I said that night: I didn't hear what Hans said to you, but it looked like whatever he said – or did – really upset you, so I figured that you just needed some space afterwards, and tried not to take it personally. I told him the same thing."

"You… told Hans that?"

"Yep," the princess said, rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes. "He really wanted to talk to you the last couple of days, but I told him to wait until you came around." Her forehead crinkled. "Of course, I thought you would've done that by now, but you haven't, so…"

The queen frowned at the comment, and the princess looked sheepish. "Not that you had to do anything, obviously—I'm not saying that. The point is that I could tell he was coming on a little too strong that night, and probably scared you off. Right?"

The queen's frown deepened. "He didn't _scare_ me," she retorted, crossing her arms. "He just doesn't know when to stop talking. Or what boundaries are. And…" She paused, her eyes downcast. "It's been hard, with all the rumors."

The princess patted her sister's hand. "I know, and I've gotten my share of that, too," she empathized. "I think he gets it, you know? How people see him, and how people see him with _you._ He knows that it isn't easy for you."

"Did he tell you that?" the queen asked, her brow rising.

"Yes, actually," her sister replied. "But I'm not blind, Elsa. In fact, I'm pretty sure I would recognize sooner than him when you're feeling upset. That's why I slipped you that note."

The queen smiled a little. "It did make me feel better."

The princess smiled back. "I figured it would, or at least I hoped that it would. I just didn't want you to feel like you were alone."

Her older sister's lip trembled at the statement, and said nothing.

They sat in silence for a beat until the princess broke it, her playful smirk returning. "You know, it's kind of funny: when Hans is with me, he's pretty laid-back and easygoing, but when it comes to you, he gets so… _intense._ I can see why you might need breaks from him."

The queen's nose twitched. "That's one way to put it." She paused. "Did he tell you anything about that day?"

The princess shook her head. "No, not really. He's very private about his conversations with you." She eyed the queen with interest, and noted: "You're the same, in that way."

"Well, there's nothing to say," her sister snapped, and then collected herself, pinching her eyes shut. "Sorry, that came out the wrong way. I just meant—whatever happened, it doesn't matter. I shouldn't have spoken to you, or ignored you, in the way that I did," she continued, her tone contrite. "Or in the way that I have before."

She stared at the princess. "He's not the reason I'm here, Anna."

"Isn't he, though?"

The queen blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Let's be honest, Elsa. Would you even be sitting here in front of me right now, apologizing like this, if Hans hadn't shown up at your coronation two weeks ago?"

Her gaze narrowed. "I don't understand what you're getting at."

"Just imagine what would've happened if he'd never written to us that he was coming," the princess said, "if he never came to Arendelle, and never stayed in the castle with us. Would we have been able to be together like this?" A slow, patient smile broke out on her lips. "I thought for sure you would've snapped by now, with everything going on and all these new people around – it's so different from what we're used to – but you've actually been handling it all really well."

The younger woman's expression grew thoughtful. "I still don't know or understand what happened, exactly, but it was like something woke up inside of you when he arrived. You just… turned into this totally different person overnight. Someone I haven't seen since we were kids."

The queen sat stock-still in the chair, her face pinking.

The princess waited for her to gather her wits, which she did—but only after the room had grown so silent as for the ticking of the clock to become audible in the background.

"It can't be because of him," said the queen, her surroundings coming back into focus. "He hasn't—"

"Been here long enough to affect you like that?" the princess finished. "Yeah… I think you might've said something like that a few times already."

The color in the queen's cheeks darkened at the comment. "Because it's the truth. You and I were talking and seeing each other more before all this, while preparing for the coronation over the last few weeks. Him being here has nothing to do with it."

"Elsa," the princess began with a sigh, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but all that 'talking' and 'seeing' we did before he showed up was mostly passing each other in the hallways, or me trying to have a conversation with you and you trying to get out of it." She added in a more serious tone: "I know it's hard to admit that he could be the reason it's happening, but… I don't think there's any harm in doing so. It might even make you feel better."

The queen scoffed. "I doubt that."

The princess frowned. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that I could be right—that him being here is a good thing for us?"

The queen paused, looking away ruefully. "There are things that I wish I could tell you, Anna—things that are hard even for me to understand, or explain. Maybe one day, I'll be able to do it. But right now…" She trailed off, looking at her gloved hands, and exhaled. "I have to figure it out on my own."

"But that's just the thing, Elsa: you _don't_ ," her sister pleaded, moving closer to her until she was on the edge of the bed. "You have me – and Hans – now. You don't have to keep your distance anymore."

The queen smiled sadly. "I know that—really, I do, Anna," she replied, sounding tired. "But these things don't happen overnight. You have to let me do them in my own time."

The princess leaned back at the answer, her mouth twisting. "Thirteen years isn't enough, huh? Fine. Take your time, then—as long as you need," she snapped, "but don't expect us to wait around for that to happen."

Her older sister threw her a long, mournful look at the comment, but the princess ignored it, crossing her arms and glancing at the door.

"You can go, now. You probably have some work to attend to anyway, right?"

The queen's hands, tense in her lap, crackled with anxious, cold energy—but she quickly clasped them together, her father's words whipping across her thoughts like a harsh wind.

_Don't feel._

"I'll see you later, Anna," she said, her voice even and formal, and stood from her seat.

She paused once upright, staring at her sister one last time; when the princess refused to return the look, she finally turned and walked to the door, her fingers shaking as they made contact with the doorknob.

A small spark of ice alighted from them on the metal, and the sight caused her to swiftly open and close the door behind her in a panic, breathing unsteadily as she pressed her hands back at her sides.

_Thirteen years isn't enough, huh?_

Tears welled in her eyes for a moment – but no longer than that – as the queen faced the endless corridor again, walking back towards the solitude of her bedchambers with heavy footsteps.

* * *

The queen took her breakfast alone in her room later that same morning, declining to answer the curious look her servant had thrown her at the request.

Chastened by the discussion with her sister, she stared blankly at the food when it arrived. By the time she managed to eat a bit of her scrambled eggs, they were already cold; after several more disappointing bites followed in the same fashion, she pushed the plate away, feeling ill, her fingers tapping along her desk.

Trails of ice followed them until the edge of the wood was fairly frosted over, interrupted only by the knock and subsequent entry of the steward.

Her hand snapped back to her lap as she greeted him with indifference. "What is it?"

"You asked me to remind you a few days ago when our guests would start departing," he said, not meeting her cold stare. "This is the reminder, Your Majesty."

Guilt stung at her when she noticed his lowered eyes. "Ah, yes," she said in a gentler way, rising from her desk. "I'm ready. They're in the throne room, I take it?"

He nodded, finally looking at her. "Yes, Your Majesty." He handed her a note. "Here is the list of the ones leaving today, for your reference."

She came to stand at his side, forcing a smile onto her lips, and took the note from him. After scanning it quickly, she handed it back to him, and nodded towards the door.

"Let's go, then."

The steward bowed and followed her lead as she walked out, keeping a respectful distance between them, and in a few minutes they arrived in the throne room. A hush fell over the chattering queue as the queen took up her position at the front of it, standing a step above ground level by her throne.

Her smile was still in place even as she noted the looks of apprehension that some of the visitors leveled at her, and she motioned for the first diplomat to approach.

"Queen Elsa," the Spanish ambassador began, bowing, "it's been a true honor to stay with you over the last two weeks. We look forward to continuing discussions over the terms of the trade agreements with you and your council in the coming months, and in the meanwhile, I hope you will pay us a visit soon."

His smile was as smooth as his speech, and she returned it with a strained version of her own. "Thank you, Ambassador. I hope so as well. I bid you farewell and a safe return journey home. Please pass on my regards to Their Majesties."

He bowed again, moving to kiss her hand out of habit—but, seeing her gloved hands firmly clasped together in front of her, he merely nodded and was escorted out with his retinue.

She hid a frown as the next man came forward, bowing and beginning in a similar way.

"Your Majesty, thank you kindly for your hospitality and generosity in hosting my countrymen and I. We are only sorry that we could not stay longer to see the fireworks this evening, for I am sure they will be spectacular…"

As he droned on, the queen's attention drifted back to the conversation with her sister.

_Why is it so hard for you to believe that I could be right?_

Her well-practiced smile dipped, hearing the princess's voice echo in the room as clearly as it had that morning. The sound drowned out all others.

… _that him being here is a good thing for us?_

Her lips curled reflexively, causing the man in front of her to blink in surprise.

"Your Majesty? Have I said something—"

_Take your time, then, as long as you need—but don't expect us to wait around for that to happen._

"No, not at all," she interrupted, her hands sweating inside of her gloves. Her cheeks were hot as she realized the line had grown shorter in her distraction, and she did not recognize the diplomat and his family who stared back at her. "I just—I have to go. I'm sorry."

"But Your Majesty—"

The protest was no sooner heard than it was forgotten by the queen, who stepped down and walked away from the scene as if held in thrall by a spell of somnambulation. She did not manage even a parting nod or curtsy on her way out, nor did she pay heed to the offended grumblings and whispers of the snubbed nobles and their entourages still waiting to be received.

The alarmed expression of her steward was similarly ignored as she drifted towards the exit, her fingers twitching as her body perspired.

_Conceal. Don't feel._

The words grated on her as she passed through the long hallways and up endless stairways, and she pressed her hands to her ears, wincing.

_Don't let it show._

"Stop it," she hissed, panting. Seeing the confused look a guardsman shot her, she realized she was already in front of her bedroom door, and reddened.

"You can go, Haakon."

The older man's brow furrowed. "But—"

" _Please_ ," she said sharply, her teeth baring with the request. "I won't ask again."

He bowed and left his queen, who watched until he turned the corner to burst back into her room in a flurry of uninhibited wind and snow, the doors rattling shut behind her.

She breathed in great gasps and swallows of cold air, trying to calm herself down; at length, the wind quieted to a soft hum, though the snow remained intact.

The queen grimaced at the sight, and attempted to turn her thoughts back to the rest of her schedule for the day, the endless council meetings that awaited her, the books left on her reading list, or anything at all that wasn't related to her furniture and shelves and window and carpet, all kissed by winter.

But nothing dispelled the chill in her heart, and as she sat upon her snow-dusted bed, she watched with resignation as ice crawled out from under her tired feet and hands and coated the peaks of snow piles.

* * *

She kept to her quarters through lunch, refusing even a tray of food to be brought to her, croaking through the door that the steward should inform her expectant visitors that she was unwell and should not be disturbed.

One effort after the other to occupy herself failed miserably, and she was left either to pace in wide, furious circles, or to wallow on her mattress, her clothes, hair, and hands long since soaked through with sweat.

Every so often, she would pause by the window to watch the guests as they walked through the gates to the docks, boarding their ships, and sailing away. As they faded into the distance over the horizon line, she would return to her pacing, and another crackle of ice would crawl along the floor.

When the call for the final dinner of her coronation celebrations came, she dismissed it, ignoring the pleas from the steward and her maidservant. The queen gathered from their pleas that the guests had, by then, heard of her erratic display in the morning, and were displeased by her long absence since.

In contrast to her usual embarrassment upon hearing such news, however, she was utterly apathetic to it, and stared with a mix of fascination and dread as her ice coated the door, threatening to freeze over the handle and trap her inside.

She had not experienced her powers in such an uncontrollable state since she was a teenager, after learning of the death of her parents. Even then, she had had a measure of restraint in curbing the spread of the ice from going under her door, so that her sister would not catch a glimpse of it on the other side.

At present, she had no idea if the ice remained contained within her room, or if it had crept out into the hallway beyond. Although a part of her wanted to pretend that she did not care if it had, and accept the consequences of her secret being discovered, the sound of the door handle rattling as the ice drew closer caused a twinge of instinctive panic to run through her.

_Don't let it show._

She rose from her bed with a start, a wild look in her eyes as she cleared a footpath through the snow to the door with a burst of icy wind, and then cracked it open, peering into the hallway to make sure she was alone.

_Conceal._

Still drenched from sweat, the queen dragged the hem of her dress along the ground as she broke out into a half-jog, her thoughts jumbling to the point that she did not know where one ended and another began.

_Don't feel._

She winced whenever she reached a corner, looking over her shoulder to check for any unfriendly eyes that might witness her frenzied state. However, when she remembered that all of the guests were out on the lawn waiting for the fireworks to begin, she slowed to a brisk walk, becoming less careful in her wanderings and even grabbing a candelabra off the wall to help light her way.

After some time had passed – how much, she could not tell – she came to a stop in front of a tall, dark door, her breathing short and quick.

_Conceal._

It was her father's voice that had said it, it seemed, and she blinked, staring uncomprehendingly at the door.

"The study," she drawled, her left hand absently slipping into the pocket of her dress. It pulled out her keyring a moment later, still moist to the touch, and she held it up at eye level, fingering through the keys until she reached the one desired. She slid it into the keyhole of the door without so much as a jingle echoing in the hall, and entered the dark room just as discreetly.

Inside, the queen peered into the darkness, eyeing the familiar trappings of her father's private chambers without her customary hesitation. She rifled through the papers on her father's desk, creating creases and tears and piles on the floor as she went; took off and examined old, dusty swords from the walls, then sent them clattering to the ground; and pulled out every drawer from every table in sight, allowing them to topple over when she deemed them useless.

Finally, she turned her attention to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and to these she paid greater reverence, merely brushing her hand along the spines. She squinted at their titles, blowing off dust from the oldest tomes in order to make their text legible.

At times, she would remove one from the shelf, and gently peruse its contents—only to put it back in place after a few minutes, increasingly dissatisfied and anxious.

_Don't feel._

"I _know,_ Papa!" the queen snapped at the empty air; several snowflakes followed the echoes of her voice. She sighed, tucking strands of her matted blonde hair behind her ears. "Let me alone. Please."

The air became still again, and she resumed her search.

As the minutes dragged on and she grew no closer to discovering what she sought, she leaned her head against the shelf in defeat, her body slumping down until she was sitting on the floor, staring up at her grandfather's portrait through the flames of the candelabra on the desk.

"There's no use for it," she murmured, closing her eyes. "I will never be free of it. Papa, Mama, I'm sor—"

Her back suddenly prickled at the sensation of a book pressing against it, and then sliding backwards into the shelf. Her eyes reopened, glancing behind her; shuffling to the side, she rubbed the small of her back with one hand, and pulled out the offending book with the other.

It was thicker in size than the ones around it, and its color a deep red that stood out even in the darkness of her shadow. She propped the book up on her knees, staring with surprise as she realized that, even with her many years of language studies, she could not fully translate the cover text comprised of ancient runes.

Opening the book, she found that everything was written in the same archaic script, and she frowned as she skimmed the pages, only able to make out basic words and phrases. There were a few illustrations included, mostly of natural landscapes. She came to recognize some as ancient maps of her kingdom, wondering at the images of old forests and lizard-shaped fire spirits that no longer inhabited her world.

At length, she came across a picture that provoked her to gasp, her heartbeat slowing to one, long _thump_.

It was an illustration of an old king lying prone upon a stone slab, his red cape draped over the side and his eyes closed. A small, dark, menacing creature stood behind him with yellow eyes, its strange hands lifted over the king's body as if in incantation. Smoke billowed out from the king's forehead and joined a foreboding cloud or _aurora borealis_ above them of green and blue and purple, framed on either side by tall, black, leafless trees.

"Anna," the queen whispered, still breathless. Her eyes darted all over the page and its accompanying text, and she rose from her seat, laying the book flat atop the mess of papers she had created on her father's desk.

As she scrabbled and splayed her hands across the pages, another paper slid out from behind the picture—and as she retrieved and unfolded it, the sight within caused a small smile to break out on her lips, her throat choking on a triumphant laugh.

She barely kept her trembling hands from tearing the page in two.

"I—" she said, her breathing quickening, "I have to tell him."

Without hesitation, the queen refolded it and tucked it into the book to mark the location of the illustration, pressing the tome under her arm as she grabbed the candelabra with her other hand, and fled the room.

* * *

The queen stood in front of the prince's door, out of breath, her hand raised to knock on it—and then withdrew it to her side, struck by the thought that she had no idea if he was even inside.

Embarrassed, she took a step back, and then another; when her foot moved backwards for a third time, she bumped into the door behind her with an audible _thunk_ from the heavy book under her arm, and she jumped at the sound.

His door opened in the next moment, and his eyes widened upon seeing her.

"Elsa?"

She swallowed, turning halfway towards the hallway. "I'm sorry, I was just going—"

"No—please, don't," he said, and opened his door wider. "Do you want to come in?"

She stared with trepidation at the dimly-lit interior, her eyes darting between it and the empty hallway to her right. Eventually, her posture sank a little, bowing her head as she entered.

Inside, his quarters looked like any of the other guest rooms of the castle: a mixture of light and dark blue bedsheets and rugs, and plain white furnishings and walls otherwise. She looked around with a touch of the same interest she had at her sister's room that morning, noting that the décor had hardly changed since the prince's first visit to her country, when he was still a child.

The notion caused her face to pale.

"Are you all right, Elsa?"

Startled by his voice, she whipped around to face him, nearly dropping the book. "I—I'm fine."

"You don't _look_ fine," he remarked, drawing closer and inspecting her disheveled, sweat-licked features. "What happened?" He glanced at the book. "And what is that?"

Her mouth grew dry. "It's nothing," she mumbled. "I really shouldn't be here."

"It can't be 'nothing' if you've come to see me, alone, in this state," he countered, his brow rising.

Another drop of perspiration beaded on her forehead. "Shouldn't you be out with the others?" she asked, glancing behind him at the window. The first firecracker had just been released, whistling through the sky and popping, causing her to wince. "What are you doing here?"

"I've never liked fireworks—they're too loud," he replied, and crossed his arms. "You're trying to change the subject. Why?"

She grimaced as the weight of the book seemed to drag her entire body down. "I'm—" she paused, and sighed shakily as she held it towards him. "I didn't know who else to talk to about this."

He took it from her gently, examining the spine and cover. "Younger Futhark," he said, his fingers tracing the embossed runes.

She blinked. "You can read it?"

He shrugged. "Not well. I assume it was the same for you?"

"Yes. I only managed a few words here and there, but…"

She trailed off as she watched the prince find her bookmarked page, his eyes wide – and then intent – as they stared at the same illustration that had taken her breath away only a few minutes earlier.

"Is this…?"

"Yes," she replied, and pointed to the loose paper tucked in the centerfold. "I found that behind the picture." As he opened it, she explained: "I think it's the map my father used to find the Valley of the Living Rock, where the trolls live. The ones that changed Anna's memories."

He studied the picture, map, and runes for a time, and then turned to her. "Where did you find this, Elsa?"

"My father's study. It was tucked away on a bottom shelf, out of plain sight. I only found it by accident."

"And what were you doing in there?" he asked. "It didn't seem like a place you spend much time in, the last time we spoke in that room."

Some color returned to her cheeks as she frowned. "It's not, but—" Ice pricked at her fingertips, damp and bare, and she closed her hands into fists. "Between our last conversation, and everyone talking about us afterwards, and then this morning, when I upset Anna by accident… I haven't been able to control it, Hans," she confessed, her voice dropping to a whisper as snowflakes began to fall around her. "It's just getting worse and worse, and I keep pushing everyone away."

The queen's gaze alighted on the tome with renewed determination. "I thought that maybe I could find something in the study that could help me. And I did, in this book." She plucked the map from him, holding it up. "With this, I can go back to the Valley, and tell the trolls what's happened. If they changed Anna's memories, then surely their magic must be powerful, and they could even help rid me of mine."

The prince's expression became unreadable. "Then… what's stopping you, Elsa? Why come here, instead of going straight into the mountains?"

_Conceal._

Her mouth went limp. "I—I just…"

"I'm sorry that I've made things difficult for you—truly, I am," he continued. "I never intended to cause you this kind of distress or pain. And I can assure you that no matter how upset Anna seemed with you this morning, she would forgive your trespasses, because she loves you."

He paused. "But none of this justifies what you're planning on doing."

The queen's jaw tightened. "How can you say that? If you really understood how 'difficult' things are for me here, you would be offering to take me to the Valley yourself."

He frowned. "If they couldn't take your powers away the first time, what makes you think they can now? Or that they _would?"_

"It's worth trying, anyway," she said, flustered. She gestured at the snow, which fell interminably. "Anything is better than this."

"I'm just asking you to think about it, Elsa," he implored. "Did they help Anna by altering her memories? Did they make _your_ life easier, or better, by leaving yours intact?" His frown relaxed as his tone grew gentler. "Don't you ever think they might have left you with your powers, and your memories, for a reason?"

She was struck silent by the questions, and looked down, her lips pressing into a thin line.

_Don't feel._

He stepped closer until he was just hovering over her. "Even if it somehow all worked," he said softly, tipping her chin up to meet his gaze, "don't you understand what it would mean?"

He tilted his head towards the window, where one firecracker after the other exploded into shades of red and green and pink against the night sky, the applause and "ooh's" and "aah's" from the crowd audible from inside the room.

"You'd be just like everyone else."

She slapped his hand away from her face, pushing him back as her eyes sparked with rage. "And that's all I've ever wanted," she snapped, her ice streaking out from under her in jagged lines along the floors. "To be like them—to be _normal_."

He watched the ice warily, shaking his head. "You just think that's what you want, because you've never been allowed to see your powers as anything but a curse."

_Don't let it show._

"You don't know _anything!"_ she cried, snow thrashing around her in a furious squall. "You could _never_ understand what this has been like for me—what I've done, or what I am capable of, still. You say you're not afraid, but I can see it plainly right now, in the way you're looking at me—"

"I'm not, Elsa," he insisted, and drew closer to the queen, even as her ice began to surround her in thick, tall walls. "If you would just stop this, and listen—"

She thrust her hands out in front of her to keep him away, and her ice followed the movement, shooting out towards the prince in spikes as sharp as knives.

She screamed at the sight, clutching her hands back to her chest and closing her eyes, her chest heavy with terror; but in the same instant, the ice that surrounded her was obliterated, and she was blown back onto the floor by an powerful, pulsating hot wind.

The queen saw black for a moment, her head lolling on the carpet.

" _Elsa."_

It was a voice she knew, but it was distant, calling to her as if from across an ocean of fire.

"Elsa."

It was closer, then—close enough that she knew it was the prince's voice, and not her father's, as she groaned, sweat dripping from every pore of her body. She opened one eye, and then another, with herculean effort, propping herself up on her elbows.

She squinted through a haze of dark shapes, feeling the same hot wind as before sweep across her skin, and the scent of burning wood enter her nostrils.

"Smoke," she murmured to herself as the room came into focus, her eyes widening.

The ice and snow she had conjured were all melting, as if the sun had just returned after a long winter, and she scrambled up until her palms were on the floor, keeping her steady.

"But how—"

" **Elsa."**

Her head shot up and found the prince standing in the center of the room, wreathed in flames.

She watched with her mouth agape as his hand reached forward and retracted the fire and smoke through his outstretched hand, standing calm and still all the while. When they were gone, no part of him seemed harmed, for not even a single hair on his head or thread of his clothing was singed—nor was there a single sear or mark upon the walls or furniture in the room.

He approached her with that same, quiet force, crouching down to her level once he was only a few feet from her.

She recoiled from his nearness, pressing herself up against the wall by the door, her knees instinctively curling in towards her stomach. Sweat still beaded on her skin and trickled down her neck in long lines, disappearing below the collar of her dress, and her mind raced.

"I—I knew it," she stammered, her lip trembling. "It was you, wasn't it? The boy from the story."

"Yes, it was."

She shook her head, her features growing wan from shock and horror. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The prince paused. "I thought I was waiting until I had gained your trust, but I can see, now, that it was the other way around." He grimaced. "To be honest, I didn't think there was ever going to be a good time to tell you. So I didn't."

The queen's mouth contorted as she swallowed bile. "Because you killed them—your father, your brothers," she rasped, licking her lips. "Those were no accidents."

His brow furrowed. "No, they weren't; not all of them, anyway. But I can explain—"

"Explain _what_ , Hans? Regicide? Fratricide?" She dragged herself up from the floor to stand, scowling darkly at the prince. "There is no defense for murder, whatever your reasons might be."

His gaze narrowed at the queen as he stood. "You say that without knowing anything about it—and isn't that exactly what you've been accusing me of, all this time? Judgment without understanding?"

Her ire swelled, though she was too exhausted to summon even a single snowflake as she struggled to stay upright. "Don't try to turn this on me," she spat, seething. "You've committed criminal acts for which you should be—"

"What—tried? Convicted? Hanged?" he finished. "I showed those bastards _mercy_ with a death by fire, compared to what I endured at their hands."

"Immolation is 'mercy' to you, Hans?" she asked, and shuddered. "How can I believe you, after seeing this? You've been lying to me since the first moment you stepped foot in Arendelle, fifteen years ago."

He grew quiet at the accusation, his hands clenching at his sides; then, they reached up and began to untie his cravat and unbutton the top of his shirt.

The queen flushed. "What are you—"

The prince parted his collar to reveal a deep black scar on his skin—a scar, she realized, which continued down his chest as he undid one button after the other.

He paused a few inches above his lower ribs, and his hands dropped back to his sides. "It goes all the way down to my navel," he said at length. "One of my oldest brothers, Antoni, snuck up on me while I was asleep and pressed a hot poker against my chest. He said I shouldn't feel any pain, since I was a demon sent from Hell."

His hand hovered over the scar, but did not touch it. "As it turned out, I did feel pain – tremendous pain, actually – which came as a surprise to me, but not to him. After all, what did I know, at ten years old? Maybe I was a demon."

A rueful smile played on his lips.

"Though it was hard to imagine Hell being any worse than the Southern Isles."


	9. IX.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest chapter to date, as I had to accomplish with Hans's backstory in one installment what I did with Elsa's in several. It is an intentional choice on my part not to refer to characters, for the most part, by their first names; in part, to give the overall story a more fairy tale-like atmosphere, but also to demonstrate the anonymity Hans assigns to his own brothers and father, as their cruelty is so all-encompassing as to be indiscriminate. As we Frozen fans often glibly ask of Hans, "who hurt you?" Well, here's my take on the answer to that question.

**IX.**

The boy was five years old when the king presented him with his first pair of gloves.

They were white and soft, made of the finest kid skin, and he stared at them in bemusement.

_Are these for me?_

_Yes,_ the man said. _You're to wear them on your hands at all times, from now on._

He looked up at the king with a frown. _All the time? Why?_

The older man's gaze narrowed. _You know why. Now put them on._

The boy crossed his arms, the gloves tucked against his biceps. _No. I don't want to._

The king pulled his arms out until they were straight in front of him, seized the gloves from his grasp, and in two swift movements he forced one, and then the other, onto his small hands.

The boy wriggled under the older man's grasp, flames shooting up and licking against the gloves and at the king's skin.

The man let go of him with a grunt, pulling his hands towards his sides, and watched as the boy's gloves slowly disintegrated within the fire that enveloped them.

 _Insolent child,_ he rumbled. _I will have another pair made, and you_ will _wear them._

 _I won't,_ the boy exclaimed, shaking off the ash from his fingers. _You can't make me!_

The king scowled and snapped the back of his hand across the boy's face hard enough to make him lose balance and fall to the cold stone floor below.

The boy glared up at him with watering eyes, pressing one hand to the injured cheek and raising the other towards the king.

The older man grabbed the outstretched hand, his expression dark and hard even as the boy's fire encompassed his grasp.

 _You will_ never _raise this hand to me again. Do you understand?_

The boy's lower lip trembled as his fire sputtered out, smoke rising from the burnt edges of the king's gloves, saying nothing.

The king released his wrist, putting out the remaining embers. _Good. Now get up, and go back to your lessons._

The boy rose with effort, his arms straight by his sides, and bowed.

_Yes, Father._

* * *

The boy received another pair of gloves a week later, but did not raise a fuss when instructed to put them on, feeling his father's eyes boring into his small, shrinking figure.

He wore them dutifully every day after that, though they often made his hands sweat and slick from over-long use. He dared not allow the king to see him without them, for the risk of injury and humiliation was too great, hanging over him like a thundercloud.

His brothers, seeing the king's animosity towards their youngest brother from an early, copied it in the hopes of winning their regent's favor. After several entreaties to his father to make them stop were met with little more than a retort of _sort it out with them yourself,_ the boy stopped asking, and retreated to the refuge of his bedroom.

There, he took to experimenting with his magic in-between lessons and meals, training his flames with his bare hands into the shapes of fantastical beasts and far-off places that he had read about in his picture books.

Eventually, however, many of his brothers intruded on this space, each with a new taunt or trick to play on the "Unlucky Thirteenth" prince. Whether it was placing a snake in his bed, horse manure in his boots, or dusting the insides of his gloves with chili powder, they performed each stunt with wicked glee.

Hardly sleeping through the night and instinctively checking every inch of his room each morning to try and discover whatever fresh horrors they might have planted for him, the boy's erstwhile hobby of fire sculpting fell to the wayside. In his newfound vigilance, he wore his gloves so often, and for so long, that their fine and durable needlework began to fray.

Even as he grew more adept at neutralizing their threats, so did his brothers' attempts grow in outlandish cruelty—and it was during one such attempt that his burgeoning ability to control his magic faltered.

Just after his seventh birthday, the boy returned to his room after supper to find a scarecrow stolen from the kitchen gardens laid out upon his bed, its straw stuffing strewn all over and tucked inside of his sheets.

Buried in its torn shirt were several daggers, and across its nondescript, yellow face was written "HANS" in animal's blood, a fact he discerned from the heavy smell of iron which permeated the air.

In his terror, the boy dragged the scarecrow to the bedroom of his oldest brother by its neck, fighting back sobs. The oldest prince was one of his only brothers who never seemed to be involved in the others' schemes, preferring to stay by the king's side and focus on preparing for his eventual role as future monarch.

When the boy banged on his door, the prince answered with a scowl.

_What do you want? I'm in the middle of my studies._

The effigy fell from the boy's hand as he dragged it into the room. _I think Magnus or Alfred did this,_ he said through sniffles, clenching his fists at his sides. _I just want it to stop, Frederik._

The prince bent over the scarecrow and plucked a dagger from its body, eyeing it with interest, and then looked back at the boy as he slid it into his belt.

_Are you really crying, Hans? Over a prank?_

The boy shook his head, and his tears fell more freely. _But they painted my name on its face with blood, and—_

_So what?_

The boy was struck dumb by the cold indifference in his brother's reply, his mouth agape.

The prince's scowl deepened. _You'll never become a man if you snivel and cower at every injury you suffer._

The boy's jaw tightened, flames licking at his fingertips and burning up the gloves on his hands. _This isn't fair,_ he hissed through his tears, and in the next moment threw a ball of fire at the scarecrow.

His brother fell back against the door with a shocked exclamation, a mixture of fear and disgust swirling in his eyes as he watched the straw man burn. Sweat poured down his face as he turned his stare back on the boy, his mouth twisting.

_What are you, devil!_

The shout was loud enough to attract attention from a servant outside, who knocked on the door.

_Is everything all right, Your Highness—_

_Get my father, quickly!_

The boy's face paled at the mention of the king, and the flames in his hand were extinguished as quickly as they had come. His effigy continued to burn on the floor.

The smoke produced by the fire caused the oldest prince to cough and flee the room, leaving the boy alone to stare helplessly at his handiwork as the fire swelled, erasing his name on the face of the scarecrow and eating into the antique Persian rug below it.

By the time his father arrived with several servants in tow, each with scarves tied around their faces and bearing two buckets of water, the fire had consumed over a third of the rug and had begun to crawl up a bedpost. With their intervention, they were able to save the bed from being turned to cinders, and the boy was rushed out by a guard into a private meeting room adjoining the east wing of the library, far from the site of the bedlam.

He waited for what seemed a year in the small room, lit by a single candelabra the guard had left for him, before his father reappeared.

The king wore a thunderous glower. _I've spent the last hour lying for you, to make sure everything looked like an accident,_ he began as soon as the doors were closed behind him, staring down his long nose at the boy's recoiling figure. _Unfortunately, however, Frederik saw what you did, and now he knows what you are. And so do Antoni and Harald._

The boy's skin turned pallid at the mention of his two other oldest brothers. _How do they know? I didn't show them it._

 _I told them,_ the king replied. _I can't trust Frederik alone to bear the knowledge of this. Between the three of them, there is a better chance it will be properly contained._

The boy quivered. _But—but they'll tell the others—_

 _They won't,_ the king interrupted, crossing his arms. _They've sworn an oath of secrecy to me, for which they will forfeit their lives if they dare break it. No word of this curse can ever be spoken._

The older man's eyes tightened.

_Tell me the reason why, boy._

The boy swallowed the lump in his throat. _The curse will lead to the ruin of our family,_ he recited, _and to the ruin of the Southern Isles._ _It must be kept secret._

 _Yes,_ the king affirmed, and suddenly seized the right arm of the boy, grasping it as he rolled up the sleeve of the white shirt. _And you would do well to remember that._

He withdrew a dagger from his belt a moment later – a dagger, the boy realized, not unlike the ones stuck into the scarecrow – and sliced a long, precise cut into the boy's skin from his elbow down the length of his forearm, drawing blood.

The boy shrieked and tried to jerk his arm away, his skin and the air around him growing hotter, but his father held him in place.

_Every time you disobey me, I will mark your skin so that you will never forget it._

He wiped the blade on his pant leg before sliding it back into its leather scabbard, ignoring the pained whimpers of the boy as he released him.

The king glanced at the boy's bare hands, still dusted with ash, and glared at him. _The next time I have gloves fashioned for you, they will be the last pair you'll have until you're grown. Do you understand?_

The boy clutched his arm to his chest, where the blood stained his shirt red.

He bowed his head. _Yes, Father._

The king uncrossed his arms. _Good. Now go back to your room. The others will become suspicious if you're gone for too long._

The boy's lower lip curled and trembled. _But my arm—_

 _A servant will come and take care of it later,_ he snapped. _Now go, before I lose my patience._

The boy kept his eyes trained on the floor, and bowed.

_Yes, Father._

* * *

In the aftermath of the fire, the king grew stricter with the princes, their schedules consisting only of schoolwork and daily exercise.

They were watched closely by their tutors, with corporal punishment for misbehavior enforced regularly enough that the brothers, one by one, came completely under the heel of their father.

The younger and middle princes, unused to such harsh penalties, blamed their youngest brother for these new measures. Though their father had been clear and adamant in his insistence that the fire was the fault of a clumsy servant – the same that had alerted the king to its existence – and the servant had been whipped for his mistake, the sharp and dark looks which the oldest three princes cast at the youngest alerted the others that all was not as it seemed.

A few of them also spotted the bandages under the boy's shirtsleeve, and noticed his difficulty in keeping up with them in their fencing matches or other sports. This confirmed their suspicions that he had done something worthy of punishment.

Nevertheless, the heightened scrutiny of the princes' behavior made it harder for them to do much more than jeer at the boy, or slip notes under his door and into his pockets wherein vulgar obscenities were written that disparaged his appearance and character.

Even with this relative quiet, freed from the more terrifying provocations that had plagued his formative years, the boy's existence grew gray and dull—for of all his brothers, he knew that his father kept the closest eye on him, and was waiting for the boy to slip up again.

The king assigned an especially strict and cold nursemaid to watch over the boy, and she paid little mind to his grunts and whines when she would dress him, pulling his sleeve roughly over his wounded arm, or when he would cry out when given baths in ice-cold water.

Understanding that his pleas would lead nowhere, and seeing that they had equally little impact on the old woman, the boy withdrew into himself. He spoke only when spoken to, read voraciously, and the vicious remarks of his brothers became no more than passing whispers on the wind.

It was unexpected, then, when the king announced that the boy and his brothers would accompany him on a diplomatic visit to Arendelle, their neighbor to the north.

For many of the younger princes, including the boy, it would be their first voyage outside of the kingdom, and so they spoke about the opportunity with excitement; the older ones, meanwhile, greeted the news with apathy, knowing from experience how little time they would have to themselves outside of official meetings and events.

The boy, dreading the prospect of being quarantined with his brothers onboard a ship, steeled himself for months in advance. He paid close attention during lessons to the history of Arendelle, and memorized the names of everyone in the royal family going back several generations. Expecting that he might be isolated and kept apart from his brothers and Arendelle's royalty so that he would not cause an incident, he prepared a small pile of books to take with him so that he might still have some semblance of his regular life.

They departed on his eighth birthday for the northern kingdom, with several servants accompanying them (including the old nursemaid, much to the boy's displeasure), and the quarters were close enough that the other princes could not do much more than play the occasional prank on the boy without a tutor or servant spotting their misdeeds and reporting them to the king.

Aside from a dramatic bout of seasickness which plagued the younger princes during their first day on the ocean, the voyage was quieter than the boy anticipated. Once he had adjusted to the swaying of the ship, he found a measure of peace resting outside in the cool breeze, salty air, and warm sun, and was disappointed to leave it when they arrived after only a few short days at their destination.

Upon landing, he was kept apart from his brothers, and his nursemaid assigned to monitor his every move. For all the renown of the fjords, lakes, and mountains of Arendelle, he saw only dusty outlines of them from his bedroom window.

After a few days of being mostly confined to his quarters, he found himself wishing that they had never made the journey at all.

Midway through the first week of their visit, he was, without warning, shunted off to entertain the young daughters of the King and Queen of Arendelle. The girls' wide-eyed looks and endless questions irritated the boy, unused to the attention or expectation to converse, and he refused their invitations to play as he read his books or pretended to sleep.

It was not until the end of that week that the boy discovered the great secret of the older princess by accident, witnessing as she conjured snow and ice from her fingertips, molding the elements into the shapes of animals and castles and snowmen.

At first, this amazed him, and he watched the spectacle in disbelief. This astonishment, however, quickly turned into envy, as he saw the girl's freedom and joy as she played with her sister—and then to anger as he fled the room at the thought that he was unable to do the same.

The reappearance of the older princess that evening, along with her tearful pleas for the boy to keep her magic a secret, caught him by surprise. Recognizing the same fear in her that he held in his own heart, he acquiesced to her request, and stared at his door long after she had left.

In the days that followed, he became kinder to the princesses, and even joined in some of their games. It was a bond unlike anything he had known before, and though he still deemed some of their conversations and activities too juvenile to engage in (he drew the line at playing dress-up), their time together allowed him to relax and speak more than he had with anyone else in years.

His relaxedness in their company even led him to tell a tale of a boy who could make fire, modeling the story after his own life insofar as he could without revealing his secret.

But in the telling and subsequent pressing by the princesses for further details, he became reticent and cold, sensing that he had said too much. For all the comfort he knew it would bring to the older girl to know that he understood her troubles, the trained eyes and ears of his nursemaid and the scar on his arm kept him silent.

By the time he and his family were scheduled to depart for home, the boy's heart was heavy with regret. He had kept himself apart from the young princesses in the days prior to his voyage, though his refusals to see them had resulted in several icy baths and hard slaps to his face. He expected that they would never want to see him again with how he had behaved, and after being told as much by his nursemaid.

Just as before, however, the older princess shocked him in her parting request and gesture, leaving him with a delicate ice sculpture of his own. When the object melted in his hands before he could admire its craftsmanship, he cried, feeling its loss more keenly than any other hurt he had weathered in recent memory.

Upon their return to the Isles, the boy's brothers – finally free from the constraints of propriety expected of them as guests in a neighboring kingdom – once again made him the target of their antics and schemes, finding ways of getting around the tutors to plant nails on his mattress or needles in his hairbrush.

The maltreatment, while nothing new to the boy, startled him after going so long without it. He tolerated it without complaint for the first month following their return, but as their tricks escalated, he found it harder to control his instinctive reactions to them.

Burning small holes in his gloves with increasing frequency, he spent many sleepless nights learning to patch them up with sewing books he had discreetly borrowed from the library. His handiwork was rough, but decent enough to go unnoticed.

The nights spent in this fashion allowed him time to think on his visit to Arendelle, and to recall in vivid detail the way he felt when he saw the older princess's ice magic—as well as her pleading to know more about his own, by way of the boy in the story he had told her.

The innocent curiosity and genuine sympathy she expressed for this character and his plight touched him long after they had parted ways, and he began to wonder why he was not allowed to feel the same way about himself as she did.

One evening, after falling victim to a particularly inventive prank involving his favorite dessert (in which his brothers had paid off kitchen staff to serve him eclairs filled with grasshoppers instead of cream), he had burnt his gloves badly enough that he stayed up well past his usual bedtime to repair them.

He worked by the light of one candle on the floor, his eyes straining against the growing darkness to perform the careful stitching required for the operation. He could not risk lighting more than one, should a servant passing by his room see any light under the door and report it to his father; but as the hours passed, it became more and more difficult to focus on his task, and his eyes drooped as the flame died.

The boy was awakened the next morning by a rough shake by his nursemaid, and then a hard slap on his shoulder as the king hoisted him up off the floor to stand, dismissing the older woman from the room.

The king shook the boy's patchwork gloves in his face. _Did you think no one would notice, boy?_ he asked, and threw them onto the floor. _To think you would sink so low as to perform a woman's work._

The boy recoiled. _I just thought—_

 _What? That you could avoid punishment?_ the king interrupted, and scoffed. He grabbed the boy's chin and pulled it upward, examining the large bags under his eyes, and let go of him just as suddenly.

_You know the penalty for using those accursed powers of yours. Take off your shirt._

The boy's lip trembled as he stood in place, remembering the girl with blue eyes and snow-kissed skin.

_But I'm not the only one—_

He stopped mid-sentence as the desperate, crying figure of the princess appeared as clear as daylight to him in the room.

 _You have to keep it a secret_ , she seemed to whisper to him again.

The king watched his son object with a half-formed thought, and then pause as if frozen in place, with a frown. _Get on with it, boy,_ he growled, jolting the boy from his reverie.

The youngest prince bowed his head, and began to unbutton his shirt. When it was halfway open, the king turned him around and pulled it down until it hung loosely around his biceps, exposing his entire upper back.

Expecting the cut to be sudden and precise like the last one, his shoulders raised in anticipation, the blades tense and shaking. Instead, nothing happened for a time, and only the sound of the boy's sharp, terrified breaths were audible in the otherwise silent room.

 _I wanted you dead from the moment you were born,_ the king said at length, his voice low and menacing. _For killing my Therese, my evening star. When I learned of your curse, I wished for it even more._

He paused to unsheathe his dagger from his belt. _Were it not for the love she bore you, I swear I would have done it._

He pressed the point of the dagger into the bottom of the boy's left shoulder blade. _And for my weakness, you yet live, and cause our family great shame. And this you must remember, as I must remember it, and bear this curse as punishment for our sins._

The cut was longer and deeper and slower than the first, running from that shoulder blade down to the small of his back, the king yanking down the shirt as he went.

The boy bit back his cries of pain all the while, swallowing his sobs, waiting until he heard the dagger slide back into its sheath before he dared to pull his shirt back up over his back. Fresh blood seeped through the cloth.

His mouth was dry, but he turned to face the king, repeating the words he knew the man wanted to hear before he would finally leave the room.

 _The curse will lead to the ruin of our family,_ he said, bowing, _and to the ruin of the Southern Isles._ _It must be kept secret._

The older man stepped back a few paces, and grunted. _Leave the gloves to the servants to repair,_ he replied. _If I catch you doing it again, I trust you understand the consequences._

The boy's head remained bowed.

_Yes, Father._

The king stayed a moment longer, and the boy kept his back bent and stiff, though the gesture caused him great pain. When the older man left, the nursemaid was sent back in to wash and dress the boy's wound, which pulsed and ached under the woman's callous ministrations.

As he struggled to stay conscious, the loss of blood draining him of his remaining strength, the visage of the princess reappeared to him at the other end of the room.

Her face was wan and melancholy.

 _Please,_ she said, her voice a distant echo. _Please don't tell anyone._

His eyes drifted shut, and he nodded.

_I won't, Elsa._

* * *

The memory of the snow princess remained fresh in the boy's mind as the months and years drew on, the cut across his back fading to a pink line.

Though he continued to suffer injuries of a similar scale at the hands of his brothers (including an especially brutal attack that left an long, dark scar across his chest), he once again became inured to their monstrous whims, turning ever more resolutely to his private studies.

These consisted of long nights spent reading books on mythology, legends, and fairy tales that he had managed to sneak out of the library at odd times of day, examining them for clues or insights into his condition. Having recorded in his spare time the routes taken by the guards on their regular rounds, and knowing the exact times when the nursemaid would check in on him, he taught himself how to navigate the palace without being seen.

In spite of the king's declaration during their last confrontation, and the general threat of being found out at any moment by his older brothers, the boy now knew that another child existed with powers like his—another child whose parents and sister were all alive and well and happy, and therefore did not seem to be "cursed" with her magic as punishment for past crimes committed.

With such knowledge, he felt his fear about the possible consequences of his actions dissipate, and he delved deeper and deeper into the far recesses of the library's archives, finding older texts with references to shamanistic rituals and practices long since forgotten. Others were written in ancient runes whose meanings he could not discern, and dared not ask his tutors to decipher for him.

The texts hinted at the source of his powers, and, presumably, the girl's: that they were elemental, of nature, and exceedingly rare. Though some tales and myths presupposed that they were the result of a witch's curse, or borne of the sins of the child's parents, others theorized that they were gifts from God, or passed down from ancient civilizations of trolls, elves, and wights who had intermarried with humans.

Even without a definitive judgement from the books, the boy grew emboldened by their notions and by their colorful, if faded, illustrations of this elemental magic. He tried to replicate the shapes and designs he saw in them with his own powers, and after many haphazard attempts resulting in some of his furniture, carpeting, and drapes being singed, he gradually developed an impressive degree of control over his abilities.

In the company of others, the boy showed an equal level of control over his temperament, asking for nothing and never complaining about the injuries he suffered at his brothers' hands. Without any fight from him, they began to lose interest in their persecutions, and moved on to other, more mature fancies, such as playing cards and pursuing young ladies at court.

(In the latter activity, however, they continued to actively discourage potential partners of the opposite sex who might otherwise take a shine to him, whispering that the "Unlucky Thirteenth" would surely make a poor husband, and an even worse lover.)

By the time the youngest prince turned fourteen, even the king had come to begrudgingly acknowledge his son's careful and studious behavior, rewarding him with a tan foal for his birthday.

It was not a unique or grand gift, as all of the princes had been given horses long before then, and at a much greater price to the king than the one accorded to his youngest son. Even knowing this, the boy recognized it as the first thing that he could truly call his own outside of clothes and books, and he raised the foal by hand, naming it "Sitron" after the sole lemon tree in the kitchen garden which had survived the harsh winter.

Ignoring the jeers and slurs thrown at him by his brothers, he visited the creature daily, combing down its mane, training it for riding, and checking its food and water to ensure that it was free of pests and parasites.

He whispered to the horse as if to an old friend, confessing to it his troubles, hopes, and dreams. In imagining that the creature could understand him and shared his burden, he found that the harassment of his brothers affected him less than before, and he directed most of his spare energy and time to looking after his newfound charge.

The king lectured the boy on smelling of manure, but otherwise allowed him to care for the creature in the manner he wished, pronouncing it a better use of his time than burning gloves and carpets.

The boy, in turn, grew less interested in his former studies of shamans and strange cultures, and no longer saw visions of the snow princess from his childhood. With little room in his schedule between his regular coursework, riding lessons, and chores in the stables, he hardly practiced his magic.

Nonetheless, he continued to wear his gloves out of habit, sometimes forgetting that they were not a part of his skin.

* * *

As he grew into a young man, his thoughts increasingly turned to what careers the king might allow him to have, given his specific circumstances.

The memory of the open sea on the voyage to Arendelle, and of the liberation he felt out upon it, thus directed his efforts towards following in the footsteps of his royal predecessors by entering naval service.

Knowing that the king would be skeptical or even averse to the idea, the young man became warier than ever in keeping his public appearance respectable and controlled. No untoward word left his lips, nor did he utter a single sentence that was not deliberately weighed and chosen for maximum personal advantage.

When, by his seventeenth birthday, his father had not yet approached him about his future, the prince took the liberty of requesting a private audience with him.

The king, having become less severe with age, still cut an imposing figure in person. He eyed the young man with suspicion, but also undisguised interest, as he waved for him to approach the throne.

_Yes, boy? What is it?_

The young man bowed. _I'd like to follow in my brothers' footsteps, and yours, Father,_ he said. _If you would have me, I would be honored to serve in your Navy._

 _And leave your beloved pet here, to be tended by the stable boys?_ the king mocked, chuckling. When his jab did not produce a reaction, his smirk dropped, and he sighed. _I suppose you've comported yourself decently enough these last few years, though there is still the matter of your curse to consider._

The old man paused. _However, it would look strange for a Prince of the Southern Isles to forego naval service, and I have no appetite for coming up with excuses for why you should miss yours._

The young man, expecting the king to arrive at this conclusion, could not help but smile a little when he did.

The king frowned. _Do not look so pleased—I have not agreed to anything. But I will think on it._

The young man bowed again. _Thank you, Father. I am grateful for your consideration._

The king grumbled something incomprehensible in reply, and waved for him to leave.

The young man complied and returned to the stables, greeting his grown horse with a triumphant smile.

 _It's happening, Sitron,_ he whispered, resting his forehead against his friend's. _Soon._

* * *

His orders to begin his naval education were delivered to him by the king's page two weeks later, the ink still fresh on the page. It noted that should the prince pass the rigorous entrance examination, he would then gain admission to the academy, and upon graduation given his official commission.

It was a process he knew well from watching his older brothers go through it, and had prepared for in advance. He elected to undergo the examination only a month later, and though he had hoped to take it amongst his peers, the king forbade it, insisting that he be alone and monitored by a single tutor.

To his family's surprise, the young man passed the test with flying colors, and was promptly admitted to the academy. The dean noted him for being at the top of the entering class, and even the king was forced to acknowledge this accomplishment during the welcoming ceremony.

He continued to excel in his initial two months of basic training, earning the hard-won respect of his peers as they learned everything from drills and loading firearms, to studying navigation and maritime law. It was the first time the young man could recall being in a group to whom he felt he could truly belong, and he dedicated his every effort to integrating himself with them while remaining a stellar student.

Slowly, however, his peers began to withdraw from him, and even mocked him from a distance. Eventually, they did so openly, undermining him through tactics such as sabotaging his weapons so that they would not fire during drills, or sending notes to the instructors signed with his name, causing him to endure additional, harsh exercise on top of their regular routines.

It was not difficult for the young man to guess at the source of the change. Two of his brothers and most active childhood tormentors, Alfred and Magnus, were upperclassmen in the academy and had disliked his entrance from the start. This disapproval was matched only by the eleventh and twelfth princes' envy of his spectacular exam score and quick ascent to popularity within the freshman class.

The sixth prince, Stefan, served as a "special advisor" to the academy's leadership, a role which amounted to little more than having the power to "strongly" recommend the sons of his political friends and benefactors for admission. He happened to be quite close to Alfred and Magnus, and had worked the levers of power on many occasions to grant them special privileges unavailable even to other cadets of high renown. Like his brothers, he had never been shy in demonstrating his antipathy towards the youngest prince, though he could not go against the king in denying him admission.

The young man's suppositions were verified by one or two sympathetic classmates, who told him in confidence of the slurs and rumors they had heard about him from his older brothers.

These included stories ranging from the absurd – such as the one in which the youngest prince was actually born with mental deficiencies, and so had cheated his way to the top of the entrance exams with his tutors' help – to the vile, wherein they claimed it was common knowledge within the palace that he had sexual relations with his horse.

While he was doubtful as to what extent everyone believed these cruel inventions, he realized that the powerful positions his brothers occupied inside the academy meant that his peers would sooner submit to the older princes' wills, than to defy them by defending the youngest prince's honor and integrity. As they were all sons of the cloying, obsequious noble families he had grown up observing at court, he knew that his low status within the royal family would not, nor could not, assist them in meeting their lofty ambitions.

Recognizing the source of his misery did not make it any easier to bear, and as the months dragged on and the sabotages and pranks escalated, the young man came to the conclusion that he would find no greater peace or freedom on the sea than he did on land.

Privately, he had decided to see the course through to the end, though he often longed for the solitude of his old life. Most of all he missed his horse, and whenever the students were given their holiday and seasonal leave, the palace stables were the first place to which he returned.

In the company of the affectionate, happy creature, well-tended to by trusted stable hands during his long absences, the young man was able to forget his worries at the academy for a time.

His second and third years proved more fulfilling as he pursued the master-line and became a full cadet. His classes fell in line with his own interests in history, economics, and strategic warfare, and he specialized in naval law, thinking he might be able to excel in such a field after graduation.

Remembering the grievances suffered during his first year, however, the young man took care to publicly perform at merely an average level in all his endeavors. He did not score too high or work too fast to draw unwanted, jealous attention, nor did he do too little and draw scorn.

The effort of disguising his true intellect and ability, while shielding him to some degree from continued harm, weighed on the young man in a way that his brothers' schemes did and could not. He resented the smug looks his fellow cadets would shoot him when they saw how low the prince's test scores had fallen from his initial entrance exam, and the triumphant smirks they would wear when they tied rope knots faster than him.

Moreover, his instructors at the academy – many of whom had once praised him as a natural and thoughtful leader for his peers – openly expressed their disappointment in his sudden descent.

Sometimes, when he was out at sea on an exercise, he would allow himself a stray thought, or two, or three, about how he could incinerate everything and wipe those smirks and disappointed looks off their faces, once and for all; but upon seeing the gloves on his hands, these violent fantasies would die as quickly as they had come.

 _The curse will lead to the ruin of our family,_ he would hear his father say, _and to the ruin of the Southern Isles._ _It must be kept secret._

* * *

Pacified by the sight of the youngest prince isolated and with lower marks on his assignments, his older brothers gradually stopped spreading some of the fouler rumors they had started about him. They graduated one or two years ahead of him, and as each prince exited the academy, so did the burden on their young brother lift a little bit.

Wary of their influence and reach with the other cadets still enrolled, he continued to keep his work unremarkable.

By the time of his own graduation three years after entering the academy, the king who had once given him grudging respect for his high exam score now regarded him with a knowing frown etched into his aged, grey features. The old man, along with several of his brothers, attended the ceremony for tradition's sake, sitting in their prescribed seats of honor along the sides of the stage.

The young man was unsurprised at seeing his father's unhappy look, and yet it sparked an old, dormant anger within him. His hands crackled with hot energy – it was the first time in years, he realized, that he had allowed himself to feel his powers even to that extent – but when his name was announced to come forward and receive his commission from the dean, he forced it down.

The heat pulsed back up through his hands, wrists, and veins, causing him to swallow with discomfort as he collected the rolled-up document and saluted the dean and his instructors. His face shook from the effort of presenting himself with decorum, his gloved fingers curling and flexing around the paper as he moved to join his fellow, newly-minted officers off-stage.

He was almost taken aback at how smooth the ceremony proceedings were, with no pranks or jokes attempted at his expense; then, catching the eye of the king in front of him, he remembered that none of his peers – nor even his brothers – would dare to pull such maneuvers with their monarch present.

When he returned to his bedroom in the palace later that evening, the relief he had felt at the end of the ceremony was extinguished as he unfurled his commission.

His hands shook as he read it.

Next to the king's royal seal, the words "WELCOME HOME" were hastily scrawled in tall, bold red letters—an addition made by one of his brothers at the last moment, he presumed. The young man lifted the page closer to his nose, sniffing it, and then recoiled as he dropped it, the paper landing on his desk.

It had been written in blood.

* * *

The note was an intentional harbinger, as the young man soon learned, of fouler things to come.

It began with his first assignment following graduation to the _Mercator,_ one of the oldest frigates in the Navy, a small, battered ship dating back to the end of the eighteenth century. It had been scheduled to be retired many times over, but the king had insisted on costly repairs to extend its service life.

The youngest prince's appointment to it was a clear shot across the bow at his capabilities, with the king pronouncing that his middling finishing scores at the academy made him unfit to man any of the newer, more technologically advanced ships in the fleet.

 _And besides,_ the old man had said, _the Mercator was my first ship—a fine one in her time. You should be honored to serve on her._

The young man did not protest, for part of him was glad just to be away from home. There, the king and his brothers, not to mention the council and courtiers, had easy access to him at all times in order to make his life a living hell.

Unfortunately, he fared little better with life at sea, as his position within the royal family – and his low scores at the academy – were communicated to the captain of his ship before he had even step foot upon it.

He was given tasks unworthy of his station and schooling, from scrubbing decks to repairing cables to rigging sails. He had trained, while in school, to concentrate in naval law; his current reality, being far from that, left him wanting for any work requiring intellectual rigor.

Unlike his brothers, he knew he did not have the luxury of cutting his minimum service time short to pursue a different career, nor was he even sure he would be able to after undertaking such a specialized education. He thus languished in his first few months of service, begrudgingly performing his duties as assigned and taking advantage of the port calls in Europe to finally experience the opportunities that had been denied to him at home. Among these were visits to brothels and gambling halls and other institutions of disrepute; he frequented these places alone, having been ostracized early on by the captain and, therefore, all of his mates onboard the ship.

Word of his foreign exploits inevitably found their way to the palace whenever the ship returned home, confirming and enhancing the existing stories that circulated the Isles about the thirteenth prince. He received a lecture from the king each time, the old man chiding him through rattling coughs about the need to be discreet – _especially with your curse,_ he would add – and an accompanying threat to have his commission revoked.

The young man would promise to behave better each time in turn, though he knew that his father's threats were idle at best.

By contrast, his brothers used the rumors to their full advantage, denying him invitations to family events ranging from births to christenings to marriages and refusing him visitations with his nieces and nephews.

His oldest brothers – still, he hoped, the only ones who knew about his powers – were the unofficial ringleaders of this charge. The others (not including those whom had gone missing, were taken ill, or had chosen to become ascetics and abandon palace life) proved easy to recruit for this cause, as they were already poisoned against their brother from years of prejudice.

He thus spent most of his time at home exiled to the stables with his horse, just as he had been during his years at the academy, taking it for long rides through the towns and forests around the Isles.

As these rides became well-known, his absences from family gatherings were framed by his brothers as him declining to attend, his jaunts cementing his status as an irresponsible layabout.

With each fresh insult and snub, the young man became more and more driven to succeed in spite of his family's determination to see him fail. He refused to play into their low expectations as he had while in school, no longer deterred by taunts or threats of expulsion.

By the summer of his first year in the service, he had become so dedicated to his work that even his mates and captain began to show him reluctant respect. He was assigned less of the grunt jobs on the ship, and even began to supervise some of the crew, though he was careful to be far more polite and tactful in giving feedback than other officers.

Soon, murmurs spread throughout the fleet of the "Unlucky Thirteenth's" surprising prowess as a leader, with comparisons being drawn between him and some of his older brothers who were revered admirals still in the service.

When months passed without any sign of professional advancement, the men wondered at why the youngest prince had not been publicly recognized by the king, nor by any of his brothers, for his laudable work. His continued assignment to the _Mercator_ when he had shown himself capable of handling a more difficult assignment was equally puzzling to them.

The young man, not expecting recognition no matter the caliber of his work, was unvexed by his fellow servicemen's quiet complaints on his behalf. It was enough for him that they should express them at all, for he knew that these grievances would eventually reach the ears of his family—and when they did, that they would reignite his brothers' ire and resentment towards him.

The thought of this would make him chuckle, and he waited impatiently for the day to arrive when he could see their irritated faces for himself.

* * *

He was not granted his next full block of leave until the week of Christmas.

The king traditionally held multiple holiday fetes and hosted foreign dignitaries for the holiday, and by the time the young man returned home, these events were already in full swing.

He passed by the great hall to catch a glimpse of that year's guests of honor – princes and princesses and ambassadors from Spain and England and the Ottoman Empire, plus some duke from a country he had never heard of – but otherwise kept himself out of sight as he dropped off his belongings in his bedroom, and then headed out to the stables.

He smiled in anticipation of seeing his old friend's face, their latest separation being longer than usual. He thought of all the events to catch him up on, and carried a bag of carrots he had bought at port that afternoon to offer in exchange for the creature's sympathetic ear.

Upon arrival, however, he was alarmed to find that his horse did not occupy his usual stall, nor any of the other stalls allotted to the royal family. He jogged to the ones given to visitors, thinking that perhaps his friend had been placed there by accident, and was startled a second time at the creature's absence.

His eyes darting to and fro in the dark, he dropped the bag of carrots and grabbed a passing stable hand by the shoulders, making the boy almost drop his lantern in surprise.

_Boy, have you seen my horse? Sitron?_

The boy blinked. _Sitron? You mean—_

 _Yes,_ the young man interrupted. _The horse of Prince Hans, the Unlucky Thirteenth,_ my _horse. Where is he?_ He frowned as he scanned the boy's face. _I know all the stable hands, but I don't recognize you._

 _Espen, Your Highness,_ the boy replied, bowing clumsily as he took a step back. _I was hired just recently, you see. I mean no offense, sir._

 _None taken,_ the young man said, his tone cautious. _Well, Espen, perhaps you haven't been informed yet, but Sitron is my horse. Tan color, amber eyes, with a salt and pepper mane. I'm quite fond of him, and he's usually in that stall over there, but I don't see him there tonight. Do you know where he might be?_

The boy swallowed. _I, uh, yes, sir, Master Georg mentioned him. The thing is, sir, he's been missing for a few days, and—_

 _Missing?_ the young man asked, his frown deepening. _What do you mean?_

_Well, um, Master Georg thinks he's run off, sir, and—_

_Impossible,_ he interjected again, scoffing. _Sitron is too well-trained to do such a thing. Where is Master Georg? I must speak with him about this._

The boy fidgeted, his hand shaking on the lantern handle. _He's, uh, been given leave to spend the holiday with his family, Your Highness._

The young man's eyes grew slatted with skepticism. _But he's always worked during Christmas,_ he mused out loud. _Who gave him permission to—_

He paused, shaking his head. _Never mind. You wouldn't know._ He sighed, waving the boy away. _Go on, now, and tend to your duties._

The boy took a few steps back, almost tripping over his own feet, and rushed off to assist late-arriving guests with parking and settling their horses.

The young man, meanwhile, scoured the area for any sign of his friend – an old horseshoe, a half-chewed carrot, or even a stray hair – but found nothing except well-worn hoof tracks inside of the stall and along the entryway. The disappearance was so thorough as to make him believe that the boy might have spoken the truth, and something had spooked his old friend so badly as to make him run away.

Knowing his friend's calm and easygoing temperament, he wondered at what could have triggered such an extreme response; but the more he wondered, the more he worried. He searched the palace grounds for hours with only dim lantern light to guide his path, refraining from using anything stronger lest he scare off his horse.

His eyes were tired and near to closing by the time the palace steward found him and begged him to go inside upon threat of physical injury from the king. Though the young man was loathe to comply with the request, he had no desire to see the steward beaten for his perceived transgressions.

Relenting in his search for the evening, he followed the older man back into the palace, his head hanging low.

* * *

He combed the palace grounds and surrounding towns and forests ceaselessly in the days that followed, though he took care only to do so in the evenings when he would not be found out by his father.

The old man had castigated him for disappearing on the night of the ball in a wretched, weak voice, telling him _I won't have you looking for that damn beast, boy_ over and over again until he had finally lost the strength to carry on.

The oldest prince was at his side always, assisting the king to his chambers or whispering news into his ear; he often shot his youngest brother looks so cold that they would make the ice princess tremble, staring warily at the youngest prince's gloved hands.

The looks and warnings mattered little to the young man, who passed each day of forced meetings and celebrations with guests with the same false geniality from the edges of rooms and halls. Though he knew what they thought or assumed about him, he would not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him as anything less than princely.

As time passed with no sign of his friend, however, his hope of finding him dimmed, and it became difficult to hide his disappointment in public.

 _What's the matter, Hans?_ his brothers would ask, smirking. _Rejected by the local whorehouses again? You know they don't have any fillies for you in there._

He had been suspicious of them and the king since his first night back, when the stable boy had told him of his horse's disappearance and of the stable master's absence. However, with no appetite for a futile fight or argument with his family, he had kept quiet, seeking clues out on his own that might pin the horse's vanishing on them.

This effort was made more complicated by the fact that the vast majority of the palace servants were fiercely loyal to his father and oldest brothers, and thus were of no help to him in identifying suspects. Their loyalty, having been purchased and maintained with adequate coin for years, was buttressed by the stories spread by his old nursemaid of the youngest prince's burnt carpets, gloves, and "unnatural" attachment to his pet horse.

By the evening of the king's grand Christmas Eve dinner, the young man was visibly sullen as he took his seat at the end of the long table in the banquet hall alongside his brothers, wives, their older children, and several guests of honor.

Of the latter group, one was seated directly opposite from him – an older man with scant gray hair atop his head but a full, bushy moustache atop his lips – and when the man recognized the prince, he bristled, frowning.

 _I could have at least been seated across from Prince Alfred,_ he grumbled loud enough for the prince to hear, adjusting his round glasses on his nose. _The indignity of it all…_

His voice trailed off to a mumble, which the young man ignored as he stared at his plate. Servants brought out one dish after the other to fill it: pickled cabbage, boiled potatoes, roasted duck and pork, and roasted potatoes with gravy. He picked at each in turn with an equal lack of enthusiasm, eating only as much as he could get away with without raising suspicion, and drinking his wine in moderation.

Once the main courses were swept away, he stared at the corridor from whence the servants carried the food, expecting dessert and glogg to follow.

Instead, the chef himself appeared with all of the dinner staff in tow, each carrying a covered bowl.

 _Your Majesty,_ he said with pride as he approached the king, _I have created a special dish for you and your guests this evening._

The old man looked up. _Oh? What is it, Birger?_

The chef smiled as the servants placed the bowls down on the table, and took the covers off.

A rush of steam was released and the guests gave a collective gasp. _A venison stew, Your Majesty. I know it is rather nontraditional, but your sons thoughtfully suggested its addition to the menu given your love of venison._

The king nodded, half-smiling at his oldest sons seated next to him at the head of the table. _Yes, thoughtful indeed. Though I am already near to bursting, I cannot resist._

 _Very good, Your Majesty,_ the chef replied, and bowed as he departed. _Velbekomme!_

The appearance of the stew caused a spate of chatter to break out among the family and guests, who eagerly dug into the dish and lavished it, as well as the princes for coming up with the idea, with effusive praise.

The young man looked at the steaming bowl with apprehension. The chef never changed the menu for Christmas Eve dinners, always following the roasted duck with glogg and Ris a l'Amande, among other cookies and marzipan.

He glanced up at the other end of the table, and was surprised to find several of his brothers eyeing him in return. Some stared with amusement, chuckling under their breath or whispering to each other; others looked smug, their simpers small but obvious.

His lip twitched with a frown at observing this, and he looked back down at his bowl, his gaze becoming intense and focused.

_Master Georg thinks he's run off, sir._

The words of the stable boy echoed in his mind as a gamy smell emanated from the stew, and the young man's eyes widened.

_I won't have you looking for that damn beast, boy._

He fought the urge to double over and gag all at once, though he did grip the edges of the table suddenly, his face pale and his hands shaking.

 _Why aren't you eating, Hans?_ the king boomed from his seat, causing a hush to fall over the table. _You must, lest you insult your father and brothers by refusing._

The young man's head shot up, his eyes meeting his father's, and his mouth open and shut slowly.

His oldest brother, at the king's right side as always, had a rare, wide smile on his face.

_You'll never become a man if you snivel and cower at every injury you suffer._

He forced his hand to grab the spoon, dipping it into the bowl, and turned his gaze to meet his brothers'.

 _Yes, Father,_ he said, and brought it to his lips, swallowing the stew effortlessly. At his brothers' surprised expressions, he smiled.

Inside of his gloves, his hands were burning.


	10. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End... or is it? (It's not.) I debated whether or not to write more, and decided to leave it short and sweet, in the end. Quality over quantity. Thanks all for the reviews and support, as always.

**X.**

The prince paused. “That was the start of it all. The breaking point.” He looked down at his hands. “I had spent so many years learning to control it, and then hiding it, that I almost forgot about it, after a while. Until that dinner.”

The room was silent but for the queen’s deep, shuddering breaths, the fireworks long since having ended outside.

“And so you plotted to kill them, one by one. Is that it?”

“Not exactly,” he replied. “The first time was—well, there was some planning involved, yes. I sensed that I wouldn’t be able to control my powers for much longer, unless I did something. So I waited until the evening that I set sail for Hungary, right before New Year’s Eve. I started a few small flames in the corners of my father’s, Frederik’s, Antoni’s, and Harald’s residences, and by the time I was gone, they had consumed the rooms.”

His eyes moved up to meet hers. “After that, as you might have guessed, my other brothers and their families immediately suspected me of the murders. They wouldn’t accuse me publicly for lack of evidence, but the rumors they started were enough to poison my name in the Isles.”

“…because they didn’t know about your powers,” the queen murmured. “That was why you didn’t kill them with the others.”

“Yes,” he nodded, “not at first, anyway. But once I was back home, I knew I would be a hunted man. Guilty or not, they blamed me for their deaths, so I—”

“Had to protect yourself,” she finished, her tone dull.

He suppressed a frown. “Yes. Though it did little to quell the rumors, I was at least able to foil several active plots against my life.” He sighed. “Those were the first three fires, the details of which I’ll spare you. The last one that took Karl and Jesper, I had nothing to do with. Just bad luck.”

“Bad luck,” she echoed drolly, her lips pressed in a thin line.

“Forgive me for not eulogizing, Elsa,” said the prince. “Even if I never intended them to come to harm, they certainly weren’t innocent, either.”

He was quiet for a time, and his arms relaxed at his sides. “You probably understand, now, that I lied to you when we spoke that first night about where I was during the fires,” he said, “and more than likely many of the reports you received from the Isles were fabricated as well. I kept a close eye on correspondence to the palace, and in the disarray following each fire, I managed to forge more than a few letters favoring my version of events. Not that any evidence contradicted what I wrote, of course.”

“So you did reply to mine,” the queen said, her eyes drifting up to his.

He bowed his head. “In a way, yes. But not as I should have. And for that, I am still sorry.”

The clouds parted for a brief moment, allowing the crescent moon in the window behind the prince to cast a wan, ghostly glow across the queen’s features.

When it passed, she looked down, her blonde hair hanging loosely around her face.

“What is it that you want me to say, Hans?”

He blinked. “I didn’t expect you to say anything in particular, really,” he answered as his shoulders sank with fatigue. “I just wanted you to hear me out.”

“And so I have,” she replied, her gaze tightening. “But I fail to see how you are not still a danger to me or Anna, or to Arendelle.”

“Because there is nothing that either of you could do that would move me to use my powers in that way ever again,” he countered, taking a cautious step closer to her. “You are the only other person I’ve ever met with powers that are anything like my own, who understands what it’s like to live with them—to be in fear and awe of them at all times.”

The queen swallowed with discomfort, encouraging the prince to drive his point home.

“I would not – nor _could_ not – ever use mine against you, knowing that.”

“There’s no way you can promise something like that,” she pressed, her look distrustful. “Not with powers like these.”

“Perhaps,” he conceded, taking another step forward, “but even if something were to happen, we would be able to stop it, for we are each other’s equal.”

“You don’t know that,” she snapped, stepping back. A tepid flurry of snow drifted over her.

“I don’t,” the prince acknowledged, watching as a single snowflake landed on her exposed collar. “Since I arrived, I’ve noticed how unpredictable your powers can be, much as my own were when I was a boy. But I can help you with that.”

“ _Help_ me?” the queen scoffed, her eyes widening. “After everything you’ve just told me?” She shook her head. “I don’t want that kind of ‘help,’ Hans.”

“It’s not like that,” he protested, restraining himself from inching closer as he held his arms at his sides. “I can help you control it better, without using that chant your father taught you. I can help you so that you don’t feel like you have to run off after the trolls, or lock yourself in your room for days on end, just to keep yourself from hurting others.”

He shot her a long, meaningful look. “I know the ending of my story troubles you, as it would anyone who heard it. But it doesn’t erase the years I spent training the fire and taking care to conceal it from others, all while in the public eye. And I know those are the same things you want to be able to do with your ice.”

She scowled. “So that’s it, Hans? You’ll ‘help’ me by continuing to keep everything a secret?” The queen emitted a short and harsh laugh, taking the prince by surprise. “Weren’t you the one who told me that my powers were special—something to be celebrated? To be proud of?”

“Yes, I did,” he agreed, not missing a beat, “because they are special, and you should be proud. But you know as well as I do that others won’t see it that way.”

“You mean that they won’t see _your_ powers that way,” she hissed. “It’d be easy enough for everyone to connect the dots, if they knew.”

“And what makes you think that yours would be treated any differently?” the prince rejoined. “What do you imagine Anna would say, if she found out what happened to her as a child? Or your gentle, simple citizens—do you suppose they would take kindly to a queen who can conjure ice and snow at will?”

Her defiant look faltered at the mention of the princess, and his voice grew quieter. “Just look at our parents, Elsa: people fear what they do not understand. And that fear can turn to hate, easily enough.”

The prince’s eyes, darkened by passing clouds, resembled burnished emeralds.

“All we can do is learn to control it, and harness its potential for good in whatever ways we can. But we can never expect them to understand it, to accept it – nor _us_ – as we are.”

The queen said nothing for a time, and then closed her eyes, lines of pain cracking at their edges.

“Even if I agreed with you, and want what you’re offering,” she said at length, “it comes at too high a price.”

The prince’s expression fell. “Elsa…”

She raised her hand to quiet him. “I don’t deny that everything you’ve told me is anything less than horrifying, if true. And a part of me wants to believe you, because I’ve felt echoes of it in my own life—as I’m sure you guessed well before you came back to Arendelle.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “But that’s the thing, Hans: I can’t stop thinking about all the times you told me you wanted to ‘earn’ my trust, or asked if we could ‘rely’ on each other, or tried to push me into admitting the sins of my parents. And all the while you were so careful in the information you gave me in return, making sure that every story you told left out the most critical detail: that you were the boy who could make fire.”

The queen’s eyes glistened with fresh tears, though she blinked them back. “I imagined you as that boy, you know, after you left,” she murmured. “I wanted it to be you, because you were the only other person who knew. But now…”

She turned around to face the door, pressing shaking fingers to her brow. “I want you to leave tomorrow, with the other guests,” she said in just above a whisper. “I don’t care where you go—just as long as you’re far away from here.”

The room went still, and her breath caught in her throat as she waited for his reply.

The prince’s voice was soft and plaintive.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

The queen’s brow wilted, and she swallowed a sigh.

“Goodbye, Hans,” she said, and left the room.

* * *

Her retreat back to her bedroom passed in silence, with only the eyes of her guards daring to follow her down the long hallways.

The guests had turned in for the night some time before – hours before, perhaps – and so she was granted a rare moment of privacy as she opened her door, promptly sliding down to the floor in a shaking, weary heap once she was alone again.

_Elsa…_

The queen buried her face in her knees as the sound of the prince’s voice lingered in the air, filling her senses.

_We are each other’s equal._

She unraveled herself in order to crawl to her bed but could not summon the strength to rise, clinging to the footboard.

_I can help you._

She bit her lip to keep from vomiting, and rested her head against the mattress.

Above her, snow trickled down from the ceiling, slowly enveloping her in a blanket of white.

* * *

“Elsa!”

She awoke to the sound of her sister violently banging on her door the next morning, the younger woman’s voice calling out her name in distress.

Disoriented, she shook off snow from her body, wincing as she struggled to stand. “Anna?”

“What did you say to him, Elsa?”

The question made the already sallow queen’s face pale further.

She swallowed. “Anna, I—”

“You know what? It doesn’t matter,” the princess interrupted through the door. “I should’ve known you would send him away, just like you do to everyone else.”

The queen paused halfway to the door, shutting her eyes. A cold breeze wound through the room and blew under the door, making the princess release a startled gasp as she stepped back on the other side of it.

“It’s not like that, Anna,” she pleaded, hugging her arms against her chest. “Please, let me explain…”

“No, Elsa,” the princess replied. “There’s nothing left to say.”

The queen heard her sister walk away – just as she had many times before – and the breeze was replaced by harried gales of snow that encircled her in an endless vortex, throwing hairbrushes and jewelry and sheets from her vanity and bed around the room indiscriminately.

_We can never expect them to understand it, to accept it – nor_ us _– as we are._

Chilled to her bones, she did not move a muscle, her hands pulsing as she fought to control the wind from blowing her doors open.

* * *

She did not know how much time had passed before the steward came to the door next. His knock was gentler than the princess’s, but his request was delivered with the same insistence.

“Your Majesty? Our guests are on their way to the docks. Perhaps you might come out to bid them farewell?”

The queen breathed shakily. “No, Kai,” she ground out. “I’m still feeling ill. Please have Anna offer my regards.”

The older man paused. “Very well, Your Majesty,” he said, not hiding the disappointment in his voice.

She waited until he was out of earshot to finally take one step, and then another, in the direction of her washbasin. With each movement, the wind followed her, a hot, pricking sensation traveling down from the back of her neck to the base of her spine.

She gripped the sides of the basin once there, managing to splash her face with water only once or twice before it all froze over.

_Don’t you ever think they might have left you with your powers, and your memories, for a reason?_

“Stop it,” she whispered, pressing her palm to her sweating forehead. “Enough.”

_Even if it somehow all worked, don’t you understand what it would mean?_

She pressed her eyes shut again, her forehead wrinkling from the effort of keeping them closed. Ice slipped out from the hand still gripping the basin, freezing the bowl and stand beneath it.

_You’d be just like everyone else._

Her lip trembled as she pried her eyes open, and her heart raced when she saw trails of ice glittering and spidering out along the carpeted floors, leading to the window.

She followed them, spellbound, until she was looking outside at the procession of dignitaries as they left the castle, making their way to join their crews and porters at the docks.

She clasped her window frame as she leaned forward, her eyes darting through the crowds. At length, she spotted her sister at the end of the promenade, bathed in sunlight, the steward, head maidservant, and several guardsmen accompanying her. The younger woman curtsied perfunctorily at each guest and their party as they came and went, no doubt exchanging pleasantries and farewells.

_You don’t have to keep your distance anymore._

The queen wore a guilty look at the sight. Though she did not hear the sighs and complaints about her absence from the lips of those departing, she was sure they were being expressed.

Her sister bore the weight of that alone, smiling through it all.

_He’s not the reason I’m here, Anna._

_Isn’t he, though?_

The memory of their conversation from the morning before – a lifetime before, it seemed to the queen – percolated in her mind with renewed fervor in the context of her last conversation with the prince.

She tried to convince herself that she could still smell traces of fire and smoke clinging to her dress, unchanged from the night previous—that there were holes in the hem and sleeves from his flames licking them, and sweat still dripping from her body in the hot room.

Instead, when she looked down, there was only her snow and ice surrounding her, freezing the fringes of her clothes and painting her skin a white-blue color.

_Why is it so hard for you to believe that I could be right?_

The queen’s eyes lifted to gaze upon her reflection in the window, at which she gasped. Fractal ice patterns crawled up her collarbone, neck, and finally began to spread over her pallid cheeks.

As her breathing quickened, her reflection grew blurrier, and she groaned with helplessness.

_I should’ve known you would send him away, just like you do to everyone else_ —

The faint, drowsy sound of the chapel bell tolling in the background gradually broke through her bout of panic, steadying her heart, and she blinked as the room came back into focus. Pressing her hand to the window, she peered through it again, expecting to see her skin burnt with frostbite.

Instead, her reflection was invisible under the sunbeams pouring through the glass, the bright light revealing only the outside world.

Squinting against the sun, she found her sister once more… along with a familiar head of red hair bowing before her.

Her eyes widened as she stared at the pair, watching as the princess’s head drooped forward, the young woman putting her face in her hands. The prince reached towards her sister as if to comfort her, but in the presence of the parties surrounding them, he pulled back—only for the princess to grab both of his hands without reservation, pulling him in just short of a hug.

_I’m not asking you to be responsible for him or his feelings._

The queen could not make out their expressions from her vantage point, but the scene caused a flutter of warmth to spark at the bottom of her belly, and her lips gently parted.

_I’m just asking you to consider what it would be like if you listened to your own, for once._

She stepped back from the window, the heat from her belly rushing into her chest and face, and the ice retreated from all around her until it became nothing more than a distant memory.

Her fingers vibrated with warmth as she raised them to eye level, staring with wonder at the vibrant, pink color that had returned to her skin. Bringing them to her cheeks and neck, she noticed the same sensation, and she leapt over to her mirror at the other side of the room in disbelief.

The reflection confirmed what she had felt: her face was flush and alive, and even the room had returned to its original state – the furniture arranged in its usual manner, not a single thread of carpet or drapery out of place – and all completely dry, without a hint of ever having been kissed by snow.

Dumbfounded by the sight, she pressed herself against her bedpost, her eyes wide.

“It’s him,” she said. “It’s because of him.”

She looked at her bare hands with childlike wonder, and then again at her reflection in the mirror, undistorted by magic.

_What’s stopping you, Elsa?_

Whipping around, she barreled through the doors, not sparing a glance at her baffled guardsmen as she sprinted through the halls, down the stairs, and finally out the front doors, ignoring the gasps and mutters of surprise from the last few groups of guests and their coteries when she pushed past them.

When others still on their way to the gates heard the commotion behind them, they parted in waves for the queen, watching in a collective stupor as she ran, her long, golden hair rippling behind her, unfettered.

She did not pause even as she stepped foot outside the gates for the first time in over thirteen years, her feet carrying her ever forward, as if possessed, towards the docks.

With every stride, she attracted more and more spectators from the groups of departing dignitaries and townspeople nearby, who stared and chattered at increasing volume; to the queen, their voices, like their faces, blurred together into an unrecognizable mass as she shot through them.

She stopped only when she was within a few feet of the gangplanks leading to the ships, bending over to collect herself, her breathing stilted and ragged. Above her, storm clouds began to gather, the sun fading behind them.

_“Elsa!”_

It was the princess’s voice that seemed to call her name, just as she it had that same morning, doleful and distraught. It was soon joined by others – the steward, the maidservant, and the guards, all pleading for their queen to stop, and to listen – but none were paid any heed as she craned her neck up, searching the gangplanks with a fierce purpose behind her eyes.

Thunder boomed suddenly, causing the crowds to gasp; a spate of rain followed soon after, though it was light and gentle, pattering quietly against the cobblestones.

It obscured the queen’s vision for a moment, and she squinted hard, shivering as the rain soaked through her dress.

_This is me saying that I trust you._

A bolt of lightning shot out from the dark skies, and in the same moment she alighted upon the prince, her hand dropping to her side.

A hush fell on the crowds as she stood stock-still, staring at him.

_Do you trust me?_

He was halfway up a splintered plank with his luggage at the end of the dock, making his way onto a lonely, battered old merchant vessel. It was a far cry from the grand passenger ships whose colorful banners waved proudly in the air to signal their country of origin, and it reminded her of the story the prince had told her about the dilapidated frigate he had served on, back in the Isles.

She dashed towards it without hesitation, pausing at the foot of the walkway to exhale, her lips trembling.

The prince dropped his bags at his sides, his mouth agape as he turned to look at her.

“Elsa? What—”

She used the last of her strength to bound up the gangplank and throw herself into his arms, tears flowing freely down her cheeks and into the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured through sobs, “for everything. You’ve been trying to help me this whole time, and I just—I didn’t want to accept it. But now…”

She clutched the back of his jacket in balled-up fists, her face burrowed so deeply against him that she could feel the outline of his scar through his shirt.

“Please don’t leave me, Hans. _Please_.”

Unable to go on, she continued to weep, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

“It’s all right, Elsa,” he whispered into her frayed hair, and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll take care of you.”

She shuddered as his body enfolded her, and succumbed to the cold sweat of his embrace.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can imagine, this story was quite difficult to end in a competent and thoughtful way. I hope I have done it justice, in any case. Thanks again to all of you for your kind support and comments throughout the last few months. Full reflections and notes on this story to follow in the next 1-2 weeks on my Tumblr (calenheniel.tumblr.com); follow the #QueenoftheAshesFrozen tag for updates.

**Epilogue**

"Your Majesty! Many hearty congratulations to you!"

The king bites the inside of his cheek to keep from frowning at the interruption; the offending duke is never one for subtlety at public events, and this one is no exception.

He smiles as he turns from his conversation with the Portuguese ambassador, who looks less than thrilled at the intrusion. "Welcome, Sir Alan. It's a pleasure to see you again."

The duke's chest puffs out at the acknowledgment. "Indeed. I remember attending many glorious Christmas dinners in the Isles under your father's reign, God rest his and your brothers' souls. I hope Arendellian hospitality might improve to match it, under yours."

The king's lips twitch as he gestures to the Great Hall, full of laughing guests, music, and light. "I'm sure you can see that it already has." He nods towards his wife, standing by the throne, for emphasis. "Our queen would want nothing less."

The duke smiles, though there is the hint of a shadow tugging at his lips—the same shadow that the prince has seen all evening, dancing around the outlines of people's bows and curtsies and obsequious tittering in his presence.

"And for that we are glad," the ambassador cuts in, eager to redirect the conversation back to his party. The duke, sensing his imminent snubbing, slinks off in the background with a grumble. "She looks astonishingly beautiful tonight, by the way, Your Majesty. Compliments to her dressmaker." A keen, sharp light slides across the man's gaze. "You must feel very lucky."

The king's smile widens. "She does, doesn't she? And yes," he adds, "I can hardly believe my luck, that she would agree to marry such a poor old wretch as I."

The ambassador and his party laugh at the king's self-deprecation, if with a note of discomfort.

"Now, what were you saying about Carnival?" the king says, slipping back into the rhythm of the conversation without missing a beat.

The ambassador's back straightens. "Ah, yes, well—if you're both free and able to, we'd love to have you come and visit that time of year…"

The king nods along, appearing attentive even as his actual thoughts lie with the queen.

She stands by the throne as if nailed in place, staring ahead with an unreadable expression, speaking only when approached.

At such times, she is all smiles and grace and beauty, and those that come to her do not see – or do not care to see – anything amiss with her, distracted by the din of the ball.

Her husband, knowing better, notices it. However, drawn to the task of entertaining their guests, all he can do is glance at her in between mindless chatter, echoing their admiration of her long white-blue dress.

It shimmers like stalactites seeing the sun after forming during a long winter's night, and is made of material so fine and unusual that she cannot explain its construction to anyone, except him. The fractal patterns on the dress, resembling snowflakes, reflect on her bare arms and hands, seeming to turn them into extensions of the glowing fabric.

Her crown of white gold with sapphire insets, newly crafted for the occasion, complements the outfit.

His own is a more standard fare, with fleur-de-lis patterns and pure gold in place of any precious stones. It is the crown her father once wore, and with every dip or nod of his head to the guests, he carries its weight with the appearance of ease and comfort, as if he were always meant to wear it.

The dignitaries and courtiers do not miss the opportunity to mention as much, complimenting his "suitability" to his new position, and flattering him with praise for his "storied" naval career.

He hears the words unspoken by each of them, and the suspicion laying just behind their eyes: that he has bewitched the young queen after escaping his homeland under dubious circumstances, with none left to challenge his claims or rights.

The king knows that his slate will never be fully cleared, regardless of his new title. Even so, it is enough for him to see and relish this sycophancy where there was only contempt before, false as the former might be.

To the conqueror of the elusive and mysterious Queen of Arendelle, after all, go the spoils—though the conquering itself was no easy thing, and he had hardly expected it to be, even from the first moment he stepped foot back in Arendelle, one year ago.

* * *

His embrace with the queen at the docks against a lightning-streaked sky was witnessed by nearly everyone of importance, and soon after, news of it spread like wildfire throughout the kingdom and its neighboring countries. He even received a missive from his mad uncle in the Southern Isles, long and rambling, demanding to know what his deceased brother's youngest son was doing in Arendelle.

He tore the letter up and burnt the scraps in his hand before he had even finished reading it, knowing that no others would follow.

It was thanks in no small part to the queen's dogged defense of him in the following weeks that he was able to take up permanent residence in Arendelle, and begin his public courtship of her.

The latter became so controversial that the queen was forced to threaten her council that she would remain unmarried for the duration of her reign, like Elizabeth I, unless they accepted him as a suitor. Although this quickly silenced her opposition, the efforts of protecting him drained her, testing the boundaries of her already limited control over her secret powers.

He made sure to always be on hand to reassure her in such moments, caressing her hair, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, and melting away any overly conspicuous damage with fiery hands until she was calm again.

The princess, on the other hand, was thrilled: she wept with joy when the queen and prince finally disembarked the gangplank, their hands interlocked and clothes soaked through from the rain. Rushing towards them, she enfolded them in a loving, teary embrace, singing her sister's praises through sobs.

In return, he continued to play the role of the charming, supportive older brother she had never had, keeping the princess as a close ally in his courtship of her sister. She often surprised him with her cunning in plotting ways for the two to be together, alone, out of sight of castle staff; appreciative of her stratagems, he snuck her chocolate as rewards from the kitchen in thanks, befriending the cooks so that they might slip him the choicest selections.

It was with the princess's help that he became acquainted with the townspeople outside the castle, and, later, with the other provinces of the country. Although the two young women had been isolated from the outside world for most of their lives, the princess's rambunctious and sociable personality, once fully unleashed, turned out to be a force of nature all its own.

She was keen on exploring everything that had once been forbidden to her, making the acquaintance of anyone she met along the way, commoner and noble alike. He accompanied her on many such trips, making a show of his friendship with the princess to the common people at markets, ports, and fetes.

To this end, whenever she extolled his virtues to them, he looked appropriately demure or humble, shying away from the excessive acclaim.

These events were as much a demonstration of his serious intentions towards the queen as they were his representing her to her people, as she was still often absent. Living in isolation had had the opposite effect on her from the princess, and the queen was slow to adjust, carefully declining most, but not all, of the invitations to meet citizens outside of weekly petitions at court.

His understanding of her reluctance, and protection of her time, helped him to keep the peace between the two sisters. More to the point, it earned him the confidence of the queen, who came to rely on him in an unofficial advisory capacity on various state matters.

Her trust allowed him to finally utilize the skills and information he had absorbed over his twenty-six years in a manner appropriate to his royal title, even if it rankled her council to know that a foreign prince was so closely involved in their affairs.

She refused to acknowledge her dependence on his guidance when concerns were raised, and if his unsavory reputation was ever questioned in association with it, she equally disavowed such claims as unproven and, therefore, slander against her legitimate (and only) suitor.

The citizens, like the council, were slow in warming to him. Knowing the tales and rumors just as well as those at court – though lacking the tact to not mention them to his face – they regarded his courtship with suspicion and skepticism, and showed him politeness only out of respect for their princess or queen when they were in his company.

It was not until the winter after the coronation that he was, at long last, given the chance to prove himself worthy of their affections.

For reasons unknown to anyone (although the prince had his suspicions), an extraordinarily harsh and bitter winter came to pass—worse than any other in recent memory. With the fjord frozen solid and all overland passages blocked by impenetrable walls of snow, foreign and domestic trade came to a standstill, and the inability to export lumber, fur, and fish crippled the economy.

The queen, thinking herself to be the cause of it, shuttered herself inside of the castle; the prince, meanwhile, seizing the opportunity to make a good name for himself, took to the cobblestoned streets with the princess and the servants.

With blankets and bowls of soup in hand, they distributed supplies to the commoners, making sure to mention with every handshake or nod that it was by the queen's beneficence that the people were provided for in such hard times. The commoners, seeing him acting on her behalf, came to associate her undeniable goodness with him, thanking him and the princess profusely, often through tears, for their kind gestures.

Eventually, he was even able to coax the queen out of her solitude, and escorted her on several rounds of such do-gooding. Seeing the townspeople so grateful for her rare presence lifted the dark pall which had cast itself over the queen since the start of the season, and with its diminishing, so too did the winter ease.

Taking advantage of her higher spirits, he also convinced the queen that it was the perfect time to start working on controlling her powers. After all, he reasoned, the objections of the council had been quieted, and with the tide of public opinion turning in his favor, there was little left to stop them from exploring the extent of her magic.

At first, they conjured small objects together in the privacy of closed meeting rooms, just as she had done in her childhood: figurines of ballerinas, bears, and unicorns, and everyday items around her room. He matched her ice with his fire to encourage her, and after years spent hiding his own powers, he found that he enjoyed the exercises as much as she did.

Later, when the worst of the winter snows and storms had passed, he told the queen that they should venture outside the castle walls to experiment further with larger, more challenging structures.

She initially refused, afraid that creating anything too large might attract unwanted attention, and doubted their ability to travel to the mountains alone without raising suspicions of improper conduct. He persuaded her by reassuring her that the trips would be disguised as mountain retreats with her sister, and that they would only practice together when the latter was out of sight.

Though still unconvinced, she agreed to the arrangement, making sure that all correct precautions were taken and notices sent to her servants and advisers of where and when and for how long they would be gone.

The princess, ever the eager adventurer, tried to lead the first expedition into the mountains, refusing help; when the party became lost after the first hour of hiking, the prince took over, navigating with maps that the queen had insisted they bring with them for backup.

Eventually they reached a small cabin which doubled as a winter goods store, and made it their encampment. They were met there by an ice harvester and his reindeer companion, sent on the recommendation of the castle's stable master, and in short order, the gruff, awkward young man was enlisted as their guide for the trip. Being unused to any kind of polite conversation in his profession, much less with royalty, his brusque and blunt manners often led him to locking horns with the princess, as he objected to her naïve worldview.

The prince took advantage of one such confrontation to sneak off with the queen into the woods, urging her to make something grand and beautiful. To his shock, she constructed a cottage made of ice, with detailed snowflake patterns on the trimmings inside, a rocking chair, and a fireplace with a sculpture of a flame in the center.

He lost himself in these details, from the book of Aesop's fables resting on the table by the chair, to the false wooden beams glinting blue under the sun. It was all the more remarkable for not melting by even one drop for the entire time they spent inside of it, though he was afraid to test the limits of the construction by touching anything directly.

It was only when the queen heard the princess call her name that the cottage's facade began to crack, her fear causing jagged lines to ripple through the ceiling and floor.

Just as he had when they were in the castle, however, the feeling passed as soon as the prince placed his hand on hers, disappearing her anxiety – and her creation – in a single, slow exhale.

Other trips into the mountains followed the first, and the princess, ever eager to find ways to give the prince and her sister more alone time together, began to bait the iceman into quarrels so that he might be distracted from the other two wandering off.

(The tactic worked for the most part, though the prince noticed that the iceman increasingly shot him suspicious looks after the parties were reunited, and seemed to be catching on to the fact that the princess was provoking him for sport.)

With every second they had alone, another opportunity was born for the queen's imagination to spark and fly, creating objects of ever-growing complexity and beauty. Her heart was light in such moments, and her smile as bright as the sun, bringing an unseasonable warmth to the mountains and valley below.

His only task at such times was to remind her not to get too ambitious with her magic, and risk it being seen.

Her displeasure with these checks was evident, if brief—for while she was getting more accustomed to her power and more enthralled with what she could build, one look at the princess ensured that she never forgot what she could also destroy.

* * *

The king's eyes drag over his wife's elegant, iridescent figure across the room as she speaks to the princess, a rare smile flitting across her lips.

They are painted pink for the evening, just as her cheeks are decorated with a light dusting of blush, and he cannot help but marvel at her loveliness.

* * *

The prince had dared not make any overt advances towards the queen from the previous summer through mid-winter, other than securing her trust and loyalty. In spite of her remarkable gesture of affection on the day of his scheduled departure following her coronation – and the declaration of his courtship shortly after – he had been careful in how he approached the physical part of their growing intimacy.

The caution had also been purposeful insofar as wanting to keep her waiting, and breathlessly anticipating the moment in which they might finally consummate their growing feelings.

He ensured that it progressed naturally, as if they were young lovers who had met by chance at a ball: first, by holding hands when they were alone together; then, kissing her cold fingers; and, finally, her pink lips.

* * *

A spark of heat shoots through the king's stomach at the recollection of that first kiss, which now seems like a lifetime ago.

* * *

It was in the library, where they had shared so many other of their private moments, just as the snow began to melt at the end of winter.

She was telling him about a palace of ice that she wanted to scale up from a miniature she had constructed in her childhood, to a full-scale building – and the uninhibited excitement shining in her eyes enchanted him so utterly that he took her hands in his, and kissed her without warning.

The connection was so immediate, and so electric, that he momentarily lost control of his powers, scalding her hands. His profuse apologies were waved off by the queen, who merely chilled her own skin, and then continued their kiss as before, pressing her cool hands to his hot neck.

They shared many more moments like this in the weeks that followed, growing closer and closer until they were fully embracing, allowing their hands to roam over each other's clothed bodies whenever they were alone.

With each step forward, the prince noted a correlating dip in the queen's abilities. It was as if their bond represented a third kind of power between them: one that inhibited her magic, and made her more pliable to his affections and influence.

He was not sure, at first, as to the extent to which she was aware of this effect their intimacy had on her. Over time, however, she became quieter, and less inclined towards sharing her innermost thoughts and feelings with him, as she once had.

Sometimes, he would catch her glancing at him with doubt, or even with fear, when she thought he was not looking. Thinking he knew what was in her mind, he would look down at his hands, and promise that he would never hurt her, as he had before; the queen would deny each time that this was the cause of her discomfort or odd looks, claiming that she had been lost in thought about the state of the country, or about some meeting on her agenda.

Eventually, she grew adept at deflecting such questions with a reassuring smile of her own, which, even though he could see through it better than anyone else, tended to have the effect of temporarily disarming him anyway.

By the beginning of spring, his concerns had been allayed enough to take the next – and final – step in making their partnership complete, and proposed to the queen. Knowing her aversion to public displays of any kind, he performed the act in the semi-private area of the rose garden where they had first walked together, many months before, bending on one knee in the proper form.

He presented her with a show of his affections in the form of a rose, shaped from flames, suspending it in the air. In accepting his proposal, the queen froze it over until it was made of ice, symbolizing their union, and kissed him.

In the kiss, he felt the traces of an uneasy tremor on her lips.

She insisted on starting the preparations for their wedding soon afterwards, and though he was pleased with the speed of the arrangement, he could not help but wonder at her urgency.

The same fear he had seen before began to return, little by little, and though he tried to pry further and discover the reason for it, the queen became annoyed or even angry with him on each new attempt. She would only bear the concerns of her sister, and even then, she was not always able to hide her growing disquiet.

The princess assured him that it was just premarital "jitters," and that her sister would return to her "normal" self once the preparations and ceremony were over and done with. She reminded him of how anxious the queen had been in the lead up to her own coronation, and that a royal wedding – being an event of equal, if not higher importance – was bound to upset the young woman's already fragile constitution.

It became an exhausting endeavor to placate the queen as the date drew nearer, and she took to her old, bad habits in her nervous spells, pacing her room for hours, icing over the walls, and casting snowdrifts over her bed. In trying to explain her behavior to him, she relied on the princess's excuse of the council putting so much pressure on her over the wedding preparations, disregarding any other theories he might pose.

To his surprise, however, her erratic mood swings and accompanying loss of control came to an abrupt end the week before their wedding. She began to accept everything that was happening, and would happen, without protest, and the blue in her irises grew duller with each passing day.

Whether he asked her what was wrong, or what she would prefer for this or that aspect of the ceremony, or what type of music she would like to be played at the reception, she gave only cursory, short replies to him with a hazy, distracted expression. Likewise, she returned the prince's physical gestures, whether in the form of embraces or kisses on her cheek or forehead, with the same, empty smile—or no smile at all.

The wedding followed in a similar fashion, with the queen compliant in all regards, save for the dress, which she had insisted from the beginning be of her own making. Though she looked resplendent in it, and was the envy of every young woman in attendance, she approached the altar with a countenance devoid of any feeling approximate to joy, and spoke her vows in a voice so hollow that it caused him to shudder.

When they kissed to seal their union, her lips did not tremble, nor make any movement at all.

She turned to the crowd with a smile convincing enough to make her sister weep, though it did not fool the iceman sitting next to her, who stared quizzically at the newly-married couple.

He was thus crowned king, and, taking his wife's cold, limp hand in his own, they descended from the altar, the crowd's cheers little more than faraway echoes.

* * *

The queen trades a few words with the princess and her iceman before the latter have disappeared into the crowd again, the pair no doubt rebuffed in their invitations to join the dance that is about to start.

Her look is as hard as steel, the same as before, though the king can just make out the hint of something more behind it.

He breaks away from his guests to return to her side when the song begins, offering his hand. "My queen," he says, bowing, "may I have this dance?"

"No, thank you," she replies. "I'm quite tired."

He nods. "Of course. I'll stay here, with you."

She does not reply as he stands next to her, and places his hand lightly on the small of her back. When he feels no physical response from the gesture, he turns his eyes back to the dance floor, finding the princess.

The younger woman is dragging the iceman onto the floor, ignoring his protests, and her partner is predictably hopeless in following the rhythm. The onlookers, including the king, chuckle at the scene, causing the commoner to blush from his neck up to his blonde hair, and finally to tear himself away from the princess and console himself by the chocolate fondue fountain.

When he glances at the queen, he is pleasantly surprised to see the faint outline of a smile on her face, though this vanishes as soon as she notices him looking at her.

"Are you enjoying the evening?" he asks anyway, smiling. "It seems like Anna is, even if at Master Bjorgman's expense."

His wife finally looks at him fully, unblinking, her eyes traveling from the crown atop his head, down to his hands.

"You're wearing gloves," she observes, ignoring his question.

He stifles a swallow. "It's the least I could do, on such an auspicious day," he replies, struggling to keep his smile in place. "It would look odd to have bare hands for our wedding, after all."

Suspicion flashes across her gaze at the answer, but she says nothing, looking back at the dance floor. She watches her sister with something between longing and regret, though the emotions are so fleeting that the king cannot be sure if he saw them at all.

Unnerved, he suddenly takes her hand in his, and kisses the top of it. "You look wonderful, dearest," he tells her, "and you have made me the happiest man in the world, today."

He presses her hand, repeating his final vow from the ceremony. "I will always be your devoted servant, and love you until my dying day. You know that, don't you?"

The queen's lips part, and she pauses.

"I do. But love… isn't always good."

He frowns. "What are you talking about, Elsa?"

She turns back on him with a cold and inscrutable stare, withdrawing her hand from his. "You don't remember?"

At his puzzled expression, she sighs and closes her eyes, reciting her next line with grim irony.

" _And so the_ _boy escaped, and went north, and became a King of another land. He never hurt anyone ever again."_

When her eyes reopen, they are tight, and her nose wrinkles. "It seems like the boy got everything he ever wanted," she says with a pained smile, "but I don't think that last part is really true."

The king pales, and he is as silent as the grave.

"Elsa…"

Her smile becomes vacant as she places her hands in front of her, and turns her attention back to the crowd. Without hesitation, she descends the stairs to join her guests on the main floor, and matches the beat of a new song with her fingers, tapping them along the sides of her dress.

With each tap, the air grows a little colder in the room.


End file.
